When Dreams Defer
by aprimavista
Summary: Lock-in for a basketball scholarship? Check. Perfect girlfriend? Check. Knee injury to change it all, former Ice Queen turned BFF, and fighting with former friends? Check, check, and check. Senior year is not nearly what Troy Bolton had expected. troypay.
1. Trailer

**Bold is voiceover.**  
_Italic is a Sharpay voiceover (as in, she's speaking off-screen)._  
Regular is actions/normal speech.

x

**Everyone has hopes and dreams**

Shows Troy scoring the winning basket and being surrounded by his friends.

**But when they're gone in an instant,**

Zoom in on Troy as he tries to steal the ball from an opponent, he's elbowed in the gut and falls.

_What happens to a dream deferred?_

A cry of pain reverberates through the gymnasium and the crowd stands suddenly.

**Can you ever truly recover?**

Shows Troy on crutches, walking away from his awaiting friends.

**Or will you forever be lost in the motions?**

Loud music plays, the room is crowded. Troy looks around guiltily, and pops a palmful of pills into his mouth.

**Sometimes, you need to lose yourself,**

"Troy, please talk to me!" Gabriella begs.

"No."

**To find who you're really meant to be.**

Troy shoves one of his crutches onto Sharpay's foot and she screams and smacks him with her purse.

**So what happens to a dream deferred?**

_Maybe it just sags like a heavy load._

**Zac Efron**

Troy angrily throws a basketball into his mirror.

**Ashley Tisdale**

Sharpay has her compact open, but is looking over the top to watch Troy across the hall.

**Vanessa Anne Hudgens**

A tear slides down Gabriella's cheek.

**Corbin Bleu**

Chad shoves Troy into a row of lockers.

**Lucas Grabeel**

Ryan rubs his hands together and smirks mischievously.

**with James Lafferty  
**

The Wildcats lift him onto their shoulders as Troy watches from the sidelines.

**and Adam Brody as Noah**

"Oh, I get it. I'm only here for the comic relief."

**There's a thin line between**

**Giving up, and giving in**

Troy shouts, "You can't help me! No one can fucking help me!"

_Or does it explode?_

**_When Dreams Defer._**

**Coming soon.**

* * *

a/n: So that was my first ever trailer. What did you guys think, was it horrible? Please review, I think I'm going to have a lot of fun with this story but first I just want to make sure people are actually going to read it. And let me know what you think about James Lafferty being an OC; for those who don't know him he's on the show One Tree Hill, and if you wanna see him you can go here: _. com/Groups/00001/96/39/1749369 (underscore) l . gif_ but without the spaces, and the actual underscore thingys : )

And for all future chapters, a disclaimer. I don't own High School Musical, or any song titles that are used as chapter titles, or any lyrics/poems/quotes that may appear in future chapters, in case it isn't blatantly obvious. I still don't know why we need these things, but whatever, I'll play along because I really don't need to have my stories deleted.

* * *

**edit 5.31/12.28: Noah was added to the trailer (Noah lovers rejoice! ;D) The obvious choice for him should be Adam Brody, since Noah was inspired by Seth Cohen, but I have multiple Noahs running rampant in my head on different days. Another contender, I think, is Johnny Lewis. He was on The O.C. for a few eps. too & has a bit of Noah in him. And still another is Superbad's deliciously awkward Michael Cera, who I think pretty much has the look for him. ****If anyone doesn't picture him as Adam (or Johnny, or Michael), then just ignore this & go on picturing him however you want.**** But overall ****I find him a pretty tricky person to envision - he's a bit of a shapeshifter in my own mind.**

**

* * *

edit 5/13/09: i was bored & added lyrics from the chapter titles (or from songs from the album titles the chapters came from) to the beginning of each chapter. i'm not really sure if it was necessary, i just felt like it. all songs, albums, and bands are credited at the end.  
**


	2. The Games That Play Us

_This story is dedicated to the lovely Lali and awesome Ashlee, because they're two pretty cool kidss _;D

* * *

Dreams are a fickle sort of thing. Everyone claims to have a dream--even the high school dropouts making their ways selling drugs downtown--but what exactly does anyone do to reach them? Too many times dreams die while being put on hold for what, at the time, seems more important. Progress halts for things going on "in the now," things that won't mean anything a few years down the road other than the cause for regret and bitterness. But dreams are always changing. Nothing about them stays constant, always morphing and tweaking as the people who have them change as well. If there was one thing Troy Bolton liked, it was consistency.

He never believed that crap where one day someones life's ambition was to be a doctor, but then the next minute they're off to Hollywood to star in a movie. No: if you have a dream you stick to it, simple as that. Everyone knew Troy's dream; it had been set in stone for a long time and was one of the most obvious aspects about him. Roses were red, violets were blue, celebrities were running in and out of rehab, and Troy Bolton was going to be a basketball legend. Not even starring as one of the leads in a musical could change that kind of ambition.

There was something about the sport that got to him. It was that adrenaline he got as the clock ticked down, the sweat fell in rivulets down his body, and the fans waited with bated breath as he would steal the ball from the opposing team, shoot, and win the game. Nothing else gave him the kind of high he got when that rubber sphere slipped from his fingers and, for a gravity-defying moment, soared through the air to come into contact with the net.

After a lifetime of practice, this was what it all came down to each and every time. Fifteen minutes left on the clock of the East High Wildcats' homecoming game. East High wasn't like normal high schools; most people attributed it to the fact that their football team sucked. After a decade straight of no-win seasons (the best ever made was a 1-6 record in '98 before they forfeited the rest of the season), alumni and parents stopped supporting the team. The cheerleaders, predictably, would rather cheer for a winning team and the old traditions began to change.

"This truly is the battle of the felines now. The Wildcats have had an impressive lead in the standings so far, not losing one game yet. But the Bobcats are looking ferocious today as they lead by two points. The question on everyone's mind now is whether or not Troy Bolton get his team together to win in just fifteen minutes."

Fourteen minutes and the score was 56-58, with the Bobcats in the lead. Two points in fourteen minutes was nothing; Troy would never let himself live it down if he lost his homecoming game his third year as starting varsity and, more importantly, second year as team captain. He signaled Chad towards the player in possesion to start up one of their more clever plays.

The large player wouldn't be deterred, whatever angle Chad came at him from. He kept moving, nearly taking multiple people down, as he got closer to his team's side of the court. As he awkwardly leapt to shoot the ball, Chad then put to use one of his famed talents. Essentially, he confused the shit out of him by screaming in a very loud, very high falsetto. It had the desired affect, tweaking his left arm too much to the right; the ball hit the backboard directly above the hoop and bounced back onto the court, back into play.

The Bobcats were in possession again, this time by a smaller guy (and they hoped easier to overcome). Troy smoothly maneuvered his way around the blue-jerseyed player, tapping the ball at just the right angle to dribble it back towards the Wildcats' half of the court. He glanced a look at the scoreboard: Just five minutes remaining. Standing over to the left of the bleachers, Troy noticed his father standing with an older man sporting salt and pepper colored hair. He wore a suit, enough to stand out in the EHS gymnasium in general, and held a clipboard which he kept jotting notes on. Troy wondered who exactly it was, as people attending East High games didn't usually deem it necessary to dress up for the occasion.

Four minutes and counting: The crowd was getting restless, the Wildcats were still down by just two points. If Troy could make it within shooting range, a simple three-pointer and they would keep their undefeated status. Every eye in the gym was on him then. They all knew who Troy Bolton was, and what he was capable of. They knew it was him who would lead their team to victory.

3:56 and Troy dodged a Bobcat gracefully, something he was positive was due to his extensive dance rehearsals for _Twinkle Towne_. Just two minutes left as the ball was stolen from his hand by an intimidating number 34 and taken nearly the entire way Troy had come. One minute was on the clock as Jason stole the ball and passed it easily; Troy bent his knees and jumped, the ball flying gracefully as it landed with a loud _swish_ through strikingly white net.

"5-4-3-2- And the Wildcats have done it! The Wildcats have won the game! Oh, and what a game it was! Final score: Wildcats- 59, Bobcats- 58. The next game is Friday at Cedar Crest High School, where Troy Bolton and Co. will certainly be tested against the former league champs."

The buzzer ringing was one of the most glorious sounds Troy had ever heard in his life. As the announcer screamed loudly into his mic, the team lifted Troy onto their shoulders, throwing themselves their own little parade. But now that the game was over, and they were the victors, there was only one thing left to do: party like it was 1999.

This was the only time the football field ever really came in handy anymore. An overwhelming bonfire was set up in the middle of the field, some people crowding around it for warmth, others using the large flames to hide their public underage drinking. Troy himself was never the drinking sort. Kegs were always brought out to parties like this, but it never really appealed to him all that much, he was too busy living off of the euphoria of winning--that was enough for him.

And for one more night Troy Bolton was hailed as a hero. He was surrounded by friends and fans (even a few college guys who were on the team last year congratulated him on a well-played game), perfectly content for the moment. Unfortunately enough for him, all good things had to come to an end eventually. Even for East High's most popular, things couldn't be expected to be any different.

xxx

"Troy, my man! We beatin' some Trojan scum tonight?"

Troy wasn't entirely sure who the guy was that approached him in the hallway, but he pounded fists with him anyway, and responded with an affirmative "You know it!" The boy, whoever he was, seemed pleased with the answer as he walked the opposite way down the hall. This wasn't an unusual occurrence though. It seemed everyday he was met by another schoolmate he had never seen before, whether it be a freshman or a fellow senior. It was to be expected, as he was Troy Bolton, aptly titled King of the school, and East High was his kingdom.

Up and down, like a bobble-head, he had been nodding all day long. As Chad, someone he actually knew, tackled him from behind, Troy realized he was _definitely _going to need some aspirin before the big game that night. Last week's homecoming game was tough, but later that night they'd be facing the State Champions, the Cedar Crest Trojans. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't nervous, because he was. The Trojans were known to play dirty, but still they had an amazing team with a nearly unimpenetrable defense.

"Hello to you too, Chad."

"Dude, I am so hyped right now! You ready for the pep rally?" he asked eagerly, bobbing up and down.

"Yeah, I just gotta see if Gabriella's done with her meeting."

"Right, right. Uh, if Taylor asks, tell her I'm ... doing something, incredibly important."

Troy laughed at his friend's obvious ploy, "What, like puffing your hair?"

"Hey!" Chad defended, "It takes a long time to prep these luscious locks."

"Uh huh, _right._"

"Well whatever you do, just don't tell her I'm in the gym. She thinks I've been spending too much time playing basketball."

"Alright. I'll be there in time for a few warm-ups before the rally starts."

"Peace, man," he said before jogging down the hallway. Troy stifled a small laugh as his friend's large hair bounced up and down with each step.

It was only another minute or so to get to the science wing of the school. As he approached room 127, the Chemistry Lab, he heard various scientifical phrases being sprouted from all ends of the classroom. Taylor had begun a long-winded speech about some competition, or something like that, as he peeked his head inside.

"So we really need to be on our top game. You all know how important this is! But-" Taylor's eyes flashed over to Troy in the doorway, widening as she realized what his presence meant, "ooh, alright, it's past 3:30. Meeting is adjourned, and we'll pick up same time next week."

"Troy!" Gabriella squealed, launching herself into his arms after a bunch of kids quickly exited the room.

"What's up, Genius?"

"I think my head is about to explode! Taylor's going full-on drill sergeant on us."

"Well excuse me for wanting us to do well," the Scholastic Decathlon captain shot back good-naturedly. Then she turned her focus to Troy, "Would you happen to know where my boyfriend is?"

"Hmm, 5'11", hair that looks like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket?"

"That's the one."

Troy didn't even bother to hide his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. "He's in the gym practicing."

"I swear that boy is going to be the death of me! I thought we talked about this! I bet it's those cheerleaders that watch him play, he thinks I don't see the way they pet his head!"

For about the fifth time that day, Troy had to struggle to keep in the laughter that threatened to come out. His amusement would only anger Taylor more. She was mad enough as it was, if her storming down the hallway, muttering under her breath was any indication.

"Well that went well."

"I just hope Lucy doesn't have her hands in his hair right now, she might not be seeing them again."

"And she _just_ got a manicure, too! Tragic," Gabriella deadpanned.

"So, milady, are you coming to the game tonight?"

She cringed, "I was hoping you'd forget to ask me about that."

"You can't come?"

"I'm so sorry! You know how much I wanna be there, it's just Taylor decided that we need to fit in some practice tonight before our meet tomorrow. If you want, I can see if she'll let me come for a little while!"

"Hey, it's alright. I mean, I'll miss having one less cheerleader, but you do what you gotta do."

"Thanks, Troy," she smiled brightly and leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "So are you going to warm up now?"

"Yeah, and I figure I should probably save Chad... and maybe Lucy."

"Good call," Gabriella agreed with a nod of her head. "Well, break a leg tonight!"

Troy waved his thanks as he jogged down the hallway, too caught up to remember to savor such innocent moments.

xxx

The home of the Trojans looked remarkably similar to every other generic high school gymnasium Troy Bolton had ever been in. The floor shined to perfection, giving a good squeak when his sneakers moved in specific ways, and the maroon bleachers were filled to capacity. Overall, there was nothing he would remember about this place--especially not after beating the unsuspecting team.

Fake right, break left: it was all so simple. Often times he wondered how his opponents didn't see it coming, but he never gave it too much though, as it was the move that had been working flawlessly for two seasons. Shoot, swish, _and the crowd goes wild._

"Number 14, Troy Bolton, with another two-pointer! And that brings the Wildcats to a one point lead."

Troy spared another momentary glance to the sidelines. His father stood there, a concentrated look on his face as he talked to yet another man in a suit, once again carrying a clipboard. This time though, Troy knew who he was. His father had told him the other day that it was time college scouts were heading out to recruit and offer scholarships. The man with the unsightly comb-over suddenly turned his view on Troy, and seemed to be nodding eagerly. Now more than ever, he couldn't screw this up. Basketball was his one chance out of this place and into a decent school.

"The ball goes to Number 27, Donnelly, for the lay-up and _oh_ it's a miss. Possession is back to the Wildcats."

It was hard to keep his head in the game with so many sounds ringing in his ears, the most dominant being the booming announcer's voice, but he knew he had to. This was his chance, and he'd be damned if he'd just give it up now. After getting a pass from Zeke, Troy had made it almost ten feet before he saw the player Donnelly come towards him from the right. Patrick Donnelly was a large player, to say the least, looking more like a linebacker than a point guard. He was 6'4" and though his unruly black strands hung in his eyes, the determination in them was still clearly visible.

Troy knew he had to act fast for any hopes of salvaging the game. Donnelly was only two inches away when Troy leapt into the air to shoot. Just as the ball left his fingers, an elbow came at him, punching him hard enough in the stomach to knock the wind out of him. The sensation surprised him, causing a quick twist of his body.

The last thing he saw was the gym floor, the last thing he heard was a crack reverberating through the air, and the last thing he felt was a painful sensation unlike any other. Then everything went black.

* * *

**a/n:** _Kinda boring as far as first chapters go, but things will get more exciting soon enough. If any of you out there are basketball buffs, then you know I'm not. I tried to use everything I know about the sport in here, but if anyone knows (or cares) enough to make corrections, you're more than welcome to _: )


	3. Rapid Hope Loss

_i guess that all you've got is all you're gonna get,  
so much for "so much more."  
- -_

White. All he saw everywhere he looked was white. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, white bed, white gown, white bedding. Quite frankly, it hurt his head to see the shade reflected everywhere he looked. What was it about white that people liked so much anyway? Or was it just hospitals that liked it?

Troy tried, but he couldn't stifle the groan that escaped his lips as he tried to shift in the uncomfortable bed. If all he saw was white, all he felt was pain. It was a strange sensation, he found. Something akin to his entire body being on fire, but wasn't it only supposed to be his leg that hurt?

His head pounded as an annoyingly upbeat nurse sauntered into the room.

"Ah, Troy!" she shrilly exclaimed. "Glad to see you awake! Those painkillers knocked you out pretty fast."

"If I'm on painkillers, why the fuck does it hurt so much?"

The nurse's perky grin faltered at the swear, something that surprisingly gave him comfort. "I'll just go and get Dr. Roberts now. He's been waiting for you to awake before discussing your situation with you and your parents."

"What situation? Wait a minute, why am I even here?"

A good question, one he had just thought of as Nurse Shelley (the name he found on her laminated name tag) mentioned a doctor. All he had done was fall, so why was he in a hospital to begin with? Surely they just wanted to prescribe him pills?

Troy found believing his own lies a bit difficult. If he was really fine then he wouldn't be feeling a searing pain through his entire leg at the moment. Still, he liked to clasp to the one inkling of hope he had left.

"Troy!" A voice he clearly recognized as his mother's, even through the fog clouding his brain, shouted. "Thank God you're awake! Oh, we were so worried!"

"Mo-om!" Troy whined, trying to battle the onslaught of kisses around his face._That _was definitely not helping.

"Mister and Misses Bolton, I presume?"

"Yes, Doctor Roberts?" his mother said, clearly ready to take charge of the situation. It seemed she had to though, Troy's father stood in the back corner of the room blankly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Correct. I've been waiting for a chance to speak with you all at the same time so we can come up with a solution to Troy's condition."

"Condition?"

"Yes, I'm afraid his condition is quite serious. When he fell, it appears he has sustained major injuries to his knee."

"It appears? What does that mean?"

Dr. Roberts pulled out an x-ray from the manilla folder in his hands, "We were waiting for the swelling to go down, to have an accurate account, and our first diagnosis stands true. In the right knee, here, his anterior cruciate ligament has been torn."

"English, please," Troy grumbled miserably.

"It's a ligament known as your ACL, and a common spot for disruption among athletes. It connects from your femur to your tibia to allow it to resist forces pushing the tibia forward relative to the femur. You can see why this is a problem."

The Bolton family all nodded in agreement with the doctor, though Troy knew none of them really understood why it was such a problem. It was only a tear, no big deal. So tape it up with some Scotch tape, or put some Elmer's glue on it and it should be alright. Right?

"You said we have options? What are they?" his mother asked, more desperate this time.

"We can either place a cast on his leg for about twelve weeks, hope for the best, and then proceed with post-operative rehabilitation, or we can refer him to an orthopedic surgeon for surgery."

"Refer him? You can't perform the surgery here?"

"I'm afraid not. This is a small, local hospital. We don't have the equipment necessary, or trained professional on location to operate."

"And where can we find this trained professional?"

"Your best bet is about twenty miles north at Albuquerque General. But be cautioned, the surgery can be pricey."

"We have insurance," came his mother's only possible protest, however weak it was.

"It is a rare situation when any insurance company covers this type of surgery, especially for a minor and given the circumstances during which the injury was sustained."

"How expensive are we talking?"

"My estimate is a couple hundred dollars."

Troy's hopeful smile fell. There was no way a high school gym teacher and a part-time dentist's assistant could afford a couple hundred dollar surgery.

"Without insurance, that'll be near impossible," she concluded sadly.

"Perhaps it's for the best. Especially with someone Troy's age, there is a risk involved."

"I guess we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"I am quite sorry there aren't more options available."

"And with the cast and the rehab, he'll be okay? To walk, and to play sports?"

"Actually, I'm afraid sports are out of the picture."

"WHAT?" Troy heard his father shout, speaking for the first time from his corner.

"The tears are deep, and participating in a sport, along with extreme discomfort, carries an extremely high risk of reopening the wounds. If that's the case, it is likely Troy will not be able to even walk again."

"So you're telling me that all we can do is sit around and twiddle our thumbs while our son sits in a cast? That's bullshit!"

"Jack!"

Not even his wife's warning tone could get him to calm down.

"Listen, there's got to be something you can do! Troy's just a few months away from graduation and there are a dozen scouts out there waiting to see him play!" he shouted again. He continued softer, "This is his chance, Doc, and he can't just let it pass him by."

"I understand your concern Mr. Bolton, but I am also interested in Troy's best interest. If he participates in high-action sports than it will be more damaging than beneficial. There is more to life than basketball, and I wish the both of you the best in finding it."

xxx

The next time Troy woke up he was in his own bedroom with a cast around his leg. To say it was uncomfortable would be the understatement of the century. His knee itched and sweat and he was overwhelmed by the annoying feeling of claustrophobia.

He was at the point where he didn't even want to open his eyes anymore, because every time he did he was brought to a more unpleasant reality. But then again, waking up and having no idea what had been going on around you wasn't exactly high on his fun list either. He wondered if this is what those people who wake up from a coma feel like. It was a strange, and completely unwelcome, feeling to have days shaved off of your life.

Troy didn't even know what the date was. It was all incredibly unsettling. A knock on his door brought him out of his state of self-pity, but still all he could do was groan to let the person outside know he was awake.

"Troy?"

"Dad."

"How're you feeling?"

"Are you really asking that?"

His father at least had the decency to look apologetic. "I just wanted to check up on you, and see if there was anything you needed."

"Yeah, there is. Got a time machine handy?"

"I'm sorry, son."

Troy knew his father was apologizing for more than not having a way to disrupt that space-time continuum thing.

"So what happened after I blacked out? Did we win the game?"

"Well that shot you took before, _you know_," he motioned feebly to Troy's leg resting on pillows. "It counted as a three-pointer. Then Jason got to take your foul shots."

"So we won?"

"Yeah."

"When's the next game?"

"Well, actually, it already happened. It was yesterday against the Knights."

"How'd we do?"

"Alright. We won, but not by much. I think it's going to take awhile for everyone to get used to you not being on the team. We put Duncan out there, he finally has enough practices in."

"You replaced me with_Charlie Duncan_?"

"Troy, I have to do what's right for the team, you know that."

"So put Chad in my spot! Don't replace me with _him_!"

"You know I don't like to single out any of my players, but Charlie is probably our best bet right now. With him we might actually get a shot for State. Don't you want to see your team do well?"

"Yeah, my team, my friends, not Charlie fucking Duncan!"

"There's nothing I can do, Troy."

"I'm team captain! That's gotta count for something!"

His father sighed deeply, "You heard what the doctor said. You're not going to be able to get back out there. We need a permanent replacement for you, and Charlie is the only one who can carry the team like you can."

"So, what?" Troy nearly shouted, attitude seeping through his words, "He's better than me now?"

"That's not what I'm saying. What would you like me to do? Bring up a JV player? Their team hasn't had any good players since your grade moved up. Charlie was the star player at his old high school, with him we're better off."

"Fine."

"Good," his father said looking relieved.

"I see where your priorities are."

"Troy, that's not--"

"You know dad, I'm_really _tired. I think you should go so I can get some sleep."

Both of them knew it was a blatant lie, Troy had been sleeping nearly the entire week, but his father just nodded solemnly before leaving the room.

This was all shit. The most arrogant person ever to walk through East High's doors was replacing him on the team he had given his all to. And on top of everything else, his right leg was going numb from lack of use.

Yes, he thought again, this really was all shit.

xxx

Troy Bolton hated sympathy, especially that false type of sympathy people throw at you when you know they couldn't give a damn. Like when your pet dies, and the other person apologizes profusely when you know it's all a show. For this reason he crutched his way unsurely into school the next Monday; he didn't want to be _anyone's_ charity case.

Puppy dog eyes and whispering lips followed him through the halls as he attempted to move towards his locker. Whenever he made a move to look, or glare, at the person talking about him, they abruptly turned their heads and pretended to be particularly interested in the design of the floor tiles. What was he really expecting, though? This _was_ high school, after all.

"Hey, man."

The first thing Troy noticed about his best friend was that his voice was soft. It was as if Chad was scared if he spoke too loudly, Troy's knee would completely shatter. It was entirely obvious how awkward the boy was, his tone of voice was _always _loud and rambunctious.

"What's up, Chad?"

"Not much, not much. Haven't seen you in a few days, how're you feeling?"

"Just peachy," Troy muttered sarcastically. No shit he hadn't seen him in a few days. Not once in the past week had any of his friends come to visit him. Not even at the hospital, and not even his girlfriend.

"Yeah."

And there was the silence again. Was this the end of the conversation? Did it even really begin? Troy shook his head and let out a sardonic laugh, this was all too much for him. Chad asked something about his backpack, but Troy ignored him and headed off down the hall towards first period. In the main entranceway the rest of his friends stood, their eyes all anxious and darting between himself and Chad.

He slowly moved in their opposite direction, even as their callings of his name echoed through the hallways.

Two hours later he was still much in the same predicament. His classmates had stared at him all throughout his first classes, and right now he was sick and tired of it. Okay, so his ACL (whatever the hell that was, he still had no idea) was torn. Big whoop. He didn't die. He wasn't broken down in the middle of the hallway and rocking back and forth with his thumb in his mouth.

Sometimes he wondered what it'd be like to be Troy Bolton: Regular Kid. If he wasn't the school's basketball star he'd be just another face in the crowd on crutches. There were enough of them every so often, and then people only politely moved over and continued on their self-absorbed existence. If he was just another face in the crowd no one would be staring at him until it felt like his skin would melt off.

As the bell rang, he shot up as fast as physically possible for him, to get out of the class before anyone could bombard him with more questions. But then again, there were less people actually speaking to him than he imagined. Only a brave few ventured up to question him about the severity of his ailment. His response was they had to drill six inches into it and now his knee was made of silicon. It took a full five minutes to realize he was kidding.

People these days really have no sense of humor.

It turned out not to be so necessary that he move quickly. Everyone around him still watched like hawks, as if fearing he might completely break if he moved suddenly, so his exit out of the classroom was smooth. Well, as smooth as it could be on metal pegs that hurt his underarms to the point where it would've felt better if he just chopped them off.

He was two feet out of the room when a female screech sounded.

"Bolton! God, are you going to stand there all day or can you move?"

Troy just stared at the former Ice Princess in a state of shock. After that last outburst he wondered if her new title should be the Former Former Ice Princess. It seemed she was pissed about _something._

She threw her hands up in frustration and speed-walked down the hallway, quite a remarkable feat for someone in such elevated footwear. Troy just watched her leave, still confused as to her cruelness towards him. Everyone else walked on eggshells around him, but she still managed to scream at him like she didn't even care (or notice) he was disabled.

For unknown reasons, her harsh actions brought a smile to his face.

* * *

_a/n: And Sharpay makes her grand entrance. So what do you think, is she just a bitch or is there more to her actions? I'd love to hear your guesses. Next chapter will most probably introduce Charlie Duncan, aka James Lafferty's character. That should probably be interesting._

_Well, I hope you liked this one, it was a pain to write. Especially the medical speak, I hope it's believable. The last scene idea is totally credited to the lovely Lali, 'cause she got me out of the funk I was in and inspired that bit with Sharpay.  
_

_Now, reviews would be absolutely lovely (hinthint)._

_

* * *

_chapter title/lyrics credit: rapid hope loss - dashboard confessional


	4. She Watched the Sky

_run for the skylines, darling; follow the light of the moon.  
(just stay alive.)  
- -_

Sharpay Evans' world was spinning. Literally. Her hands burned with the rope marks she had gotten from hanging on too tight, and her brain felt like it was going to spill out of her head. The green of the grass, the brown of the trees, and the off-white of the house all blended together in a confusing jumble of hues until it looked like a Crayola box threw up.

Lovely imagery.

And as the tire swing she perched on gave the final jolt and stopped moving, she admired the serene settings she found herself in. Usually the family didn't come out to the backyard often; especially not this far back, where a small patch of woods connected the Evans' yard to their neighbors. The tire swing had been up since she and her brother were too little to get on it themselves. On sunny days like this, their parents would always take them outside and grin as the blonde twins fought over who would take the first turn.

Ryan always won, surprisingly enough. He was a long-time master of the puppy dog pout, and had a smile that disarmed most. All he had to do was widen his eyes and stick out his lower lip and he could get whatever he wanted. In retrospect, it was all highly amusing.

She pulled her denim jacket tighter around her body, the Autumn chill had been beginning to creep into Albuquerque's weather lately. Still, she didn't want to be inside. She was convinced you could only stay inside for so many hours of the day without going completely nuts.

So she dipped her body back, tightly clutching the rubber tire so she wouldn't fall, and she gazed at the scarce clouds littering the horizon. She was again reminded of those days long past when she and Ryan would collapse onto the grass and spend hours deciding what the clouds looked like. The one directly above her, she decided, was definitely an ostrich.

Sharpay laughed at her childishness, and eventually got off of the swing when the sun began its descent into the west. The sky in that direction turned a beautiful gold, a shade that painters wished they could have in their palettes, and one the jewlery companies just wished they could perfect.

xxx

It was ridiculous the way people at East High paraded around when there was a basketball game. Truly and utterly ridiculous. Everywhere Sharpay looked there were varying combinations of red and white, all to the point that the displays of school spirit were nauseating.

It was just basketball, for crying out loud! Run, bounce a ball, and shoot at a basket--how hard was that exactly? Even she, queen of ice-bitches everywhere, could play a measly game when they were forced to in gym class. So big deal, the Wildcats won a few games, did that make it right that the players were treated like princes and floated on through life detached and unaffected?

High school is a joke, resonated through Sharpay's head as she walked down the hallways. She was late, that she knew. The corridors were completely bare, the trash littering the floor as the only signs students were ever in them at all today. But the building had cleared out pretty fast being that it was game time.

It was only the Wildcats' second home game (though it really wasn't saying much since there had only been three games all together), and the students had gone all out in preparations. Banners and posters covered nearly every inch of the white walls, and the very large (slightly scary) mural of all the players was accented by balloons and streamers. It was a freak show, and Sharpay wanted absolutely no part of it. It really was too bad she had agreed to keep her friend company during the game.

She had almost reached the gymnasium doors when a figure in the Wildcats warm-up suit caught the corner of her eye. By the cheering of the crowd coming from inside the doors before her, it was obvious the game had already started. She rolled her eyes in exasperation with herself for being so damn curious, and walked up to the player leaning against the wall.

"Sharpay Evans," he drawled lazily, sparing her a brief glance.

"Charlie Duncan."

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't exactly seem like the basketball sort," he said with a laugh.

She laughed along, "I'm not. I'm only here 'cause I promised I would be. And what about you? Surely a bigshot like yourself should be inside?"

"You'd think," he scoffed. "But no. Bolton's going on a damn power trip and won't let me play until I've got another week of practices in."

"Aw, poor athlete."

He smirked, a dim light burning in his dark blue eyes, "I'm glad you see it for what it is: the next American tragedy."

"Yes, I'm sure it's hard for you to get by around here without people constantly petting your ego."

"Tell me something," he said suddenly, the change in his tone indicating a different topic. "I've been here for over a month and I still can't figure out what makes you all tick."

"What do you mean?" she asked off-handedly. She had a feeling she knew what was coming next, but she mirrored his position and leaned against the wall, while casually inspecting her nails.

"Is everyone really so happy all the time? It's like walking into a Stephen King town or something. I'm almost scared to sleep at night."

"In case there are sinister doings? What, don't wanna be our human sacrifice?"

"This body?" he motioned to himself, "As a sacrifice? Now it'd be the best sacrifice ever, but it'd be a damn shame to waste my good looks."

"Ladies and gentleman, he's modest too!"

"No harm in telling the truth." He pushed himself off the wall to stand upright, "You never answered my question."

"What am I, the voice of the people?"

"No. But at least I know you'll tell me the truth."

"And why's that?" she asked. Now things were getting interesting ..

"I don't know, you just don't seem like one to beat around the bush."

"Uh huh, and you'd know this from experience?"

He smiled, "I hear things."

"Fair enough. Let's just say that people around here are a lot better at acting than they let on."

"Yeah," he said, trading his smile in for another smirk, "I heard about that little musical fiasco two years ago."

"That's not really what I meant. But as much fun as this has been, my cell's vibrating so it's probably my friend wondering where I am."

"Alright," Charlie smiled a little wider. "I'll see you around, Sharpay."

"Likewise, Charlie."

Pulling open the large oak doors, Sharpay had to fight to keep the smile off of her lips. Charlie Duncan, though a new addition to East High, was one of the most sought-after guys in the school. He was a smooth-talker with a smile to kill for; it was hard not to be excited that he seemed relatively interested in her. She was sure he hadn't actually participated in many of the conversations most of the girls struck up with him. Still, as she walked through the mass of people watching the game from the sidelines, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his interest than just an innocent conversation.

Maybe she was just paranoid. Maybe in all her years of being involved in the theatre, too many people had stabbed her in the back and now she was wary of nearly everyone. Whatever the deep, psychological reason was, she tried not to let it get in the way of her momentary glee. For once a guy had talked to her without his sole purpose to harass her about the spring play so long ago, or to get in good graces with her friends, or even berating her for her former Ice Princess persona. It was a nice change.

"Where have you been?" an anxious voice called out to her as she pulled out a folding chair. She hated sitting at the dinky little table so close to the court (and _way_ too close to the sweaty players), but it was the price she paid for being a good friend.

"Sorry, I got caught up."

He shrugged in return, and removed his hand from covering the microphone in front of him to speak. "The ball goes to Number 27, Donnelly, for the lay-up and _oh_ it's a miss. Possession is back to the Wildcats."

"Way to state the obvious there, buddy," she mocked.

"Hey, these kids here are simpletons, not sports buffs. You expect any of them to know what's going on without someone spelling it out for them?"

"True," she agreed. Most people who attended the basketball games knew nothing about the sport, only that if they didn't attend they'd be missing out on conversations the next school day when everyone else was talking about it.

With a smile, Sharpay turned back to the game unraveling nearly three feet away. That was when she saw it. It was almost like one of those dramatically important scenes in a movie that were put in slow motion for even more emphasis. Troy quickly tried to shoot the ball as the Trojan neared him at an alarming rate. The ball had just left Troy's hands in a jump shot when player 27's elbow shoved him hard in the ribs. His body quickly jerked to left and as he fell to the floor, his right knee received all of the pressure from his body weight.

The crack of something in his knee snapping, or popping, or whatever it did sent a collective gasp throughout the audience. Suddenly the entire gym was on its feet, some with their hands covering their mouths, all with eyes wide in disbelief. Sharpay found her own chair thrown back as she tried to get a better view.

Even Noah was too stunned to announce anything to the crowd.

A standby EMT rushed over to him, along with Coach Bolton, and they frantically tried to awaken him. It didn't seem to have been any use.

"What do you think happened?" she asked her friend in panic.

"It, uh, it sounds like a bone popped out of place."

"That's not good."

"No, definitely not... unless we want some deep-fried Troy leg."

"Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"Too soon to joke."

"Aw, Paypay--you know me, it's never too soon for an inappropriate joke after a traumatic event."

"Or _during_ the traumatic event."

"That too," he shot her a wry grin, though it didn't do much to ease the nervousness in her stomach.

xxx

It was a week later when Troy showed up in school again. Rumors spread like wildfire across campus; some said his leg had to be amputated, some said he wasn't hurt and only passed out because he was on steroids, all in all each story was more unbelievable than the last. Day after day she sat with the people she thought to be his friends, yet none of them knew anything about his condition.

Sharpay had thought that by then he'd have a home overflowing with flowers and 'Get Well Soon' cards, so it was a strange discovery when they all admitted they hadn't seen him. Even Gabriella stammered out a negative response, and she was his girlfriend. Yeah, they were real friends, alright.

"So let me get this straight, you," she motioned to the friends, "None of you have seen Troy?"

Five heads shaking indicated a 'no'.

It was a strange day when Sharpay had the most common sense out of the whole group. She had actually entertained the notion of visiting him, but then decided she was probably one of the last people he'd want to see. The past two years were interesting, to say the least, and though they had put all bad blood behind them, she still wasn't close to any of them. At least, not close enough to be the first face he saw when he woke up.

"And why not?"

"Don't pull an attitude with us, Shar. I don't think you've seen him either," Taylor pointed out.

"Alright, fine. But seriously, he's your best friend. Isn't it kind of strange?"

"It's too weird," Chad said finally. "I mean, what would we even say to him?"

"How about, 'Hi Troy, how are you? Just checking up on you because we're friends and it's the right thing to do.'?"

Score one for the Ice Princess. Once again she managed to make a group of people look sullen and ashamed. It really was a talent.

The first bell of the day rang shortly after, and sent a scurry of students through the hallways to begin the monotonous tasks of going to their lockers, and then to class. From the corner of her eye she saw Chad approach the injured Wildcat. If the crutches Troy needed to walk and the bulge of what was surely a leg-cast were any indication, things weren't looking so good for him.

She tried to hear the exchange between the friends, but by now she was too far away (her class was in the opposite wing as the rest of the group's). Instead, all she heard were hushed murmurings from the people all around her. The stupid wannabes even had the whole pointing-while-talking thing down too. Hadn't anyone ever heard of subtlety?

She made a pitstop at her pink locker, realizing her staring was just as obvious as those around her. Pulling a sparkly aqua compact off the top shelf, Sharpay made a point to turn in the direction she had been in before. She pretended to fix her eyeliner, all the while watching Troy carefully. So far he had been normal... well, normal-ish. She wondered what she was expecting though, it wasn't like the two would get into some type of brawl. So she threw the mirror back on its shelf carelessly, slamming the metal door loudly as anger overwhelmed her.

In between vicious lies they even had the nerve to throw Troy fake sympathetic smiles. The whole thing was sickening. These people didn't know him, or anything about his leg/knee/ankle, or whatever it was that was hurt. It reminded Sharpay about the way everyone talked about her on a relatively daily basis.

It seemed the Basketball God and the Ice Princess had a little more in common then they thought.

And as she was sitting for her third period class, she found herself thinking of the all-star instead of on the math equations on the board. She saw it on his face in the quick glances she had caught so far in the halls: he was frustrated. He had every right to be, too. The entire school was tiptoeing around him, even going so far to dare their friends to ask him what was wrong, because they themselves didn't have the guts to. So she resolved to do something she wished people would have done for her.

When the bell finally rang to dismiss the class, she purposely sped up her walk and was rewarded by just the sight she wanted to see.

"Bolton! God, are you going to stand there all day or can you move?" she nearly shouted at him.

In the seconds she stood there she saw the confusion clearly etched on to his face. He was wondering why she wasn't acting like everyone else. She knew that, eventually, he'd thank her for it. So she faked an exasperated grunt and continued on down the hallway.

Oh yes, he'd be grateful for her actions _someday_.

xxx

English class sixth period was the first time she came face-to-face with Troy. Aside from their little confrontation in the halls earlier, she hadn't seen him again, and almost felt bad she went off-campus with Noah for lunch--she knew how awkward it must have been for him sitting there with his friends. For the life of her, Sharpay still couldn't comprehend his friends' actions. But then again, weren't they her friends too?

Maybe on some level. She always managed to distance herself from the rest of the group, though. She knew what could happen if you put blind faith into people, especially ones that used to hate you, and for those reasons she shied away from all of them. It had been two years since she dropped her icy facade, but things still weren't as perfect as everyone figured they'd be.

Sharpay groaned out loud when she reached her next class; the ancient wench (also known as her English teacher, Ms. Goodwin) had given them a week and a half to pick a poem, present it to the class, and write a detailed analysis on it. Oh, what fun. Sharpay really and truly hated poetry. As much as she enjoyed music and getting into the character for a great song, she absolutely detested just sitting there and trying to figure out what some old, vague, dead person was saying.

Kelsi had just returned to her seat, after a perfect recitation of Emily Dickinson's "There's A Certain Slant of Light." Sharpay sighed heavily, and exaggeratedly, as she took out a new tube of lipstick and began applying it with precision. Could this day get any longer?

Apparently it could, because as she had reached the corner of her lips, Ms. Goodwin's harsh voice shouted at her over the classroom noise. The sudden shriek, on top of everything else, led to her drawing a long pink streak across her cheek in surprise.

"Stupid hag," she muttered under her breath, while trying to wipe off the lipstick with her sleeve.

She took the poem out of her hot pink notebook and nearly ran up to the front of the classroom, all too eager to get it over with.

"What happens to a dream deferred?" she began. And when it ended, if she said so herself, she had done a damn good job. She barely looked at the paper in front of her, and tried her best to actually show some emotion while she read (not like any of the miscreants in her class deserved to be privy to one of her performances).

"That was lovely, Miss Evans. But I wonder, do you know what the poem is actually about?"

Her teeth gritted together in annoyance. There was no way this shriveled up _prune_ was seriously condescending her on a poem she voluntarily chose, right?

So with a forced smile she tried her best to answer without blowing up, "Why yes, Ms. Goodwin, I do. It's about black oppression in America before the 1960s. I mean, duh, it's called _Harlem_ for a reason. I thought that was the point of this whole thing--to take poems out of context and relate them to our own lives?"

The teacher only gave a curt nod and motioned for her to take the seat. Her lips were pursed so tight, only two thin lines of cherry red were visible on her plump (and wrinkled) face. Well, it would seem upon her return, the Ice Princess was on fire. Sharpay: 2, everyone else: 0.

Ms. Goodwin's next shout was directed at Troy, who looked as though he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. He had to blink a few times to get the glazed look out of them, she noticed, and it took another moment for him to realize the teacher had called him up. He would probably deny it if under oath, but Sharpay could have sworn he muttered her same curse as he made his way up to the front of the room.

Twenty-one other pairs of eyes followed his every move, clearly expecting him to either break down, or pick a poem that was full of angst and anger.

"Now this poem, it really means a lot to me," began his spiel. "It represents all that is good, all that is sacred. It's a tale of perseverence and strength. It symbolizes something we should all aspire to be someday. It shows--"

He was cut off by the teacher's irritated tone as she asked him, in nicer terms of course, to hurry the fuck up.

So he read his poem while slouched lazily against the chalkboard, and as he did all twenty-one pairs of eyes widened in shock. No one could believe what had just come out of his mouth. This was Troy Bolton, he didn't _do_ stuff like that! As he ungracefully sat himself at his desk, Sharpay could only shoot him a smirk for his actions. Things were definitely getting interesting. It seemed all Bolton needed was a leg injury for him to show some spine.

And as the class gradually calmed down and the next person rose to be harassed by the teacher, Sharpay just looked out the window. Another amused smirk adorned her face: Storm clouds were rolling in. Real-life symbolism was just too amusing.

* * *

**a/n:** _Yay, two new characters! You've now met Charlie, and his character (so far) probably confuses the hell out of you because you don't know whether to hate him or not, but that's what I was going for _; )_ You'll most likely see Sharpay's friend Noah a little more in this. He was a whimsical addition, because he's based on my all-time favorite character, Seth Cohen (except with a little more sports knowledge). Because as some people (coughcough) know, I was utterly devastated by The O.C. cancellation, so I decided the HSM section needed a little of his quirkiness._

_The next chapter will take place during the same schoolday as this was and Troy's poem will be revealed, which I know you all are dying for _; )

* * *

chapter title/lyrics credit: hey nightmare, where did you get them teeth? - she watched the sky - a skylit drive


	5. Becoming a Monster

_let's take this all the way, nothing can touch us now.  
- -_

The first half of the day had just gone _swimmingly._ With a rueful grin to himself, Troy realized his personal thoughts were becoming much more sardonic and sarcastic than they used to be. It didn't really bother him, as he was thinking the truth instead of ignoring it for once.

His stomach was growling and as much as he dreaded it, he anticipated lunch all at the same time. First things first, Troy needed to find all of his teachers and get his make-up work, per his mother's request. So far the teachers had been nice about it, even going so far as to exempt him from tests he missed. Then there was the fire-breather. He really wasn't looking forward to a confrontation with Ms. Goodwin, especially not after the way his conversation with Chad had went.

Who did that frizzy haired freak think he was, anyway? He went off living his perfectly normal life, ignoring his best friend who was in the _hospital_, and now he wanted to make nice? He just acted like nothing ever happened. Great, just great. He was sure Chad would get a big kick out of his actions when he formally announced to the team that he wouldn't be playing anymore.

He didn't even want to think about that.

So he continued on to his English classroom, ignoring the sounding of the bell that told him he'd be late for lunch. Principal Matsui had, given the circumstances, allowed him to be late to every class that day. The pink pass in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole.

"Mr. Bolton," the harsh voice of his teacher said as soon as he opened the door. What, did she have foresight, too? "What can I do for you now that you've come during my lunch?"

"I was just wondering if I could get a list of the work I missed when I was absent."

"Well, as you know, the poetry project is due today. You are prepared for that, are you not?"

"Actually no. I was in the hospital and then they wouldn't let me get out of bed for the entire week."

"Tut tut tut, I don't want excuses Mr Bolton. This project was assigned the day before your_injury_, so I expect you to have it done. I will pretend like this conversation has never happened, and expect you to have it done by sixth period when I see you again. Do you understand?"

"But Ms.--"

"Troy, if you do not have this project done, you _will_ receive an F, make no mistake about that. I will not let you miss work simply because you are an athlete. Or _were_, I suppose is the better term now. Here is the list you requested," she said handing him a piece of legal paper she seemed to have ready, and she didn't even have the consideration to get up and give it to him. "Goodbye, Mr. Bolton."

Troy seethed as he turned around to leave the classroom. What. A. Bitch.

Well fine, if that's the way she wanted to play hardball, then two could play her game.

She was even worse than Darbus when it came to favoritism and jocks. For some (undoubtedly stupid) reason, she held a vendetta against every sports player in East High. She even tried to cut the athletics program once, and probably would have succeeded if there hadn't been a mob of angry parents. The woman was a shrew, and Troy supposed she was really in need of a good one night stand. Even if the picture in his head made him want to puke his guts out.

So he spent his entire lunch period in the computer lab, ignoring his stomach's protests, and working on his project (not that he particularly minded missing an opportunity to avoid his so-called "friends") to research the _perfect_ poem. He found it, too. His analysis was a half-hearted attempt, and he knew it would guarantee him a C at the highest, but at this point he didn't really care. As sixth period came he flashed the teacher a debonair smile with a wink to match. This was gonna be good.

Troy watched as Kelsi made her way back to her seat. She had just read something by Emily Flipinson about light and winter ... or was it Sprite and a sprinter? He wasn't really sure, but to be honest, he really didn't give a damn. He heard Sharpay's name being called and he had to conceal the laugh that threatened to explode as he saw her jump when the teacher called her name, causing her to make a _lovely_ pink streak across her cheek with the lipstick she was applying.

He could've sworn he heard her mutter, "Stupid hag," under her breath as she reached for her poem.

In all honesty, he expected Sharpay to have a bland poem that talked about someone loving shopping, or something of the sort. He was surprised however, when she stood up there with the air of someone who owned the world, and began to speak her poem as if it was a monologue on stage.

"_What happens to a dream deferred?  
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?  
Or festor like a sore,  
And then run?  
Does it stink like rotten meat?  
Or crust over,  
Like a syrupy sweet?  
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.  
Or does it explode?_"

Troy was a little more than shocked when she finished. The poem rang a bell for so many reasons, and he was surprised that hers was the only one he could focus on. _A dream deferred_, it sounded so... intense. Maybe if he knew what 'defer' meant, it would have been easier to comprehend.

"That was lovely, Ms. Evans. But I wonder, do you know what that poem is actually about?"

"Why yes, Ms. Goodwin, I do," Sharpay answered with a tight-lipped smile. She, too, had picked up on the woman's patronizing tone. "It's about black oppression in America before the 1960s. I mean, duh, it's called_Harlem_ for a reason. I thought that was the point of this whole thing--to take poems out of context and relate them to our own lives?"

The teacher looked a bit stunned, but Troy had to give her credit for quickly recovering. Not many people could say they did the same after dealing with the Ice Princess. His short praise was cut short when the teacher called his own name. He couldn't stop the "Stupid hag" that fell from his lips either.

"Now this poem," he announced to the class. "It really means a lot to me. It represents all that is good, all that is sacred. It's a tale of perseverence and strength. It symbolizes something we should all aspire to be someday. It shows--"

"Mr. Bolton, I wonder if perhaps we could just get on with the poem?"

Troy merely shrugged, as if to say '_your loss_'. He took his crutches out from underneath his arms and placed them beside him, as he slouched lazily against the chalkboard. He wondered if the class was ready for him to blow their minds.

"_The itsy bitsy spider  
Crawled up the water spout  
Down came the rain  
And washed the spider out  
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain  
And the itsy bitsy spider  
Crawled up the spout again._"

Troy held back another laugh that tickled the back of his throat. He trailed a finger across his eye to brush away invisible tears and turned to the teacher with, "That was beautiful, wasn't it?"

His class was speechless as he crutched his way back to his desk. But of course, he hadn't expected any different a reaction. A smile spread across his face as he noticed Sharpay sitting there smirking at him. It seemed she was the only one unsurprised. It brought him back to her actions earlier in the day. She was the only one who hadn't treated him like something made of glass. It wasn't surprising her personality pulled a one-eighty and frosted over, but what _was_ surprising was the fact she that she had been the only one who had made him feel normal the entire day.

As he caught her staring out the window at the darkening sky, he couldn't help but wonder if she did it purposely.

xxx

"_Troy Bolton_, oh how the mighty have fallen."

Troy groaned, he could practically _hear_ the smirk in the other boy's voice.

"What, was that supposed to be a pun, or something?"

"Puns? No one speaks in puns anymore."

Troy grinded his teeth together in annoyance, "What do you want, Duncan?"

"Just checking up on my favorite captain. No one seems to know what's wrong with you. Strange, huh?" his eyebrows raised as he began dribbling the basketball in his hands, still maintaining the cool distance he always seemed to exude.

"Yeah. Real strange."

"So, El Capitan, what's the verdict on your leg?"

"Knee, actually. I'm going to wait until the rest of the team is here before telling everyone."

Charlie smiled, "Gotcha, Boss. I'll just go warm up until everyone gets here."

Troy watched on, envy pulsing through his veins as Duncan ran around making shot after shot. It wasn't fair that the arrogant little fuck got to formally take his place starting today. He remembered his father's words, asking him if he wanted his team to make it to State. Now, he _really_ didn't want any of them to. None of them deserved it.

At a quarter to four the last of the team trickled into the gym, all watching out of the corner of their eyes to see what Troy would do. It was only when his father entered the gym and nodded at him purposefully that he used his crutches for support and stood.

"Hey everyone," he began. His voice was as normal as ever, he'd never let the team see him weak. "Alright, you all know that I got hurt at the Trojans game last week and it turns out I tore my ACL. I'm going to be out the rest of the season, so I've decided to put Charlie Duncan in my position. Everything else will be the same."

"Aw, El Capitan, you_shouldn't_ have!" Duncan gushed sarcastically.

"Trust me, I know."

And with those parting words he carefully made his way down the bleachers and out of the gym. If he couldn't play, there was no way in hell he'd stick around to watch some stupid ignoramus take control of his team.

"Troy, Troy!"

"Can we talk?" came the individual voices of Zeke and Jason, both running towards him.

"You guys should go practice."

"We will. But listen, Chad told us about this morning," Jason said uncertainly.

"This morning? Hmm..." Troy trailed off. There was no way he'd let them get away easily.

"This morning, in the hallway," Zeke tried to jog his memory.

"Sorry, I can't seem to recall."

"Troy, we just wanted to apologize," Jason said.

"Yeah, we don't want you to be mad at us."

"Now why on earth would I be mad?"

"Jason, Zeke, just forget it!" Chad called to them from a few feet away where he had been, undoubtedly, eavesdropping.

His two friends spared Troy one last look before rejoining their team for passing drills. The victory should have made him feel better, but it definitely didn't. He didn't feel anything, really. Just a pulsing sensation in his knee, but a few pills when he got home would take care of that.

xxx

"Troy!" his father shouted suddenly. "Do you think you can cut that out?"

Troy just shrugged, barely sparing a glance across the dining room table. Dinner together was usually a semi-pleasant experience. He didn't resent his parents like most other kids did, but they weren't exactly best friends either. Polite and simple conversation was always made--his mother would ask about his day, his friends, Gabriella, and then he would spend the remainder of the meal talking about basketball plays with his father.

Sometimes he supposed he was lucky to have so much in common with him, but now he was just annoyed. Ever since his accident, it was obviously painful for Jack to look at his son. Whenever he saw him on those crutches the hopes and dreams he held flashed through his head, then promptly crashed into pieces on the floor--at least, that's what Troy figured.

Deciding to humor the old man, he stopped scratching along his porcelain plate with his fork (even if the _scraaaaaaaape _was the only thing breaking the silence).

His mother looked back and forth to both males, apparently not knowing what to do with the sudden tension.

"So Troy, how is that little girlfriend of yours, Gabriella, doing?"

"Whenever she talks to me, I'll let you know."

"What do you mean, honey?" she asked concerned. It really shouldn't have, but the worry only seemed to irritate him more.

"What does it sound like I mean?" he asked bitterly.

His father slammed his hands down on the table, "That's it, Troy. Apologize to your mother _now_!"

"For what?" he asked, affronted.

"For disrespect! Until you come out of whatever slump this is you're in, I think you should go to your room!"

Troy's callous laugh only filled the room. "Are you serious? Isn't that a little cliche, dad? I mean, sending me to my room without dinner? I think you can do better then that. Why don't you just put me in the corner for time out."

"Apologize or leave, Troy."

"Fine. I choose option B."

He made his way--slower than he would have liked--out of the archway connecting the dining room to the living room. He shook his head as he passed the stairs, knowing his parents wouldn't realize the opening of the front door, they were too busy arguing in hushed tones.

The air was decidedly cooler than it had been when he left from school, but the fresh air felt good after the stuffy confines of his house. Who the hell did his dad think he was, trying to punish him like that? He passed age five a _long_ time ago.

The ground was slick with the drying rain of earlier, and Troy had to slow his pace even more. He hated this limited mobility crap. If this was two weeks ago he would have been six blocks away by now, somewhere his parents wouldn't find him until he was ready to come home. Now he was only halfway up the path that led to their backyard. It was ridiculous.

He regretted going back there immediately. The basketball hoop seemed to stand taller then it ever did, as if silently mocking him. He wished he had a basketball to pelt it with, like he pelted the high fence two years ago. And much like two years ago, he collapsed (as best as he could without hurting himself) onto the grass, a cry of frustration breaking the silence that was constantly surrounding him.

_"Possession is back to the Wildcats."_

_The man with a clipboard._

_"What happens to a dream deferred?"_

_Zeke's face._

_"Break a leg!"_

_The ball in his hands._

_"It takes a long time to prep these luscious locks."_

_The air under his feet._

_"I'm afraid sports are out of the picture."_

_An elbow in the side._

_"Troy, my man, we beatin' some Trojan scum tonight?"_

_The ground nearing closer._

_"Are you going to stand there all day or can you move?"_

_Crack.  
_

He sat up suddenly, the incident flashing through his mind like a horror movie that wouldn't stop. The movements, however, jerked his leg around a little and caused another shooting stab of pain to travel the length of his leg, up to his spine. It was crazy how much it hurt.

A vibration in his pocket startled him, and for a moment he forgot the way things were now. Chad's name flashed across the small screen, and he almost picked up the phone, forgetting he was mad at him. Just for a moment, though.

Not even three seconds later it vibrated again, this time in his hand, alerting him of the voicemail.

"Troy, it's Chad. Look, I know Zeke and Jason tried before and I called them out. But please, man, we're sorry. If you're mad us for whatever reason, then we're sorry. We really are. We're just worried about you. You haven't talked to any of us, not even Gabriella. She's not taking things well." The boy he once considered a brother sighed, "Please, Troy, cut us some slack. Just call me back, alright?"

Gabriella. It wasn't the first time he had thought about her all day, but mostly he was too preoccupied thinking about how his friends ditched him. And now he was reminded that his girlfriend did too. Well that was just great. She wasn't taking things well? Good, because neither was he. She wasn't the one forced to stop doing the thing she loved for the rest of her life. Hell, if she got a sudden allergy to chemicals or something, and couldn't be on the Scholastic Decathlon team, she wouldn't be happy either. But then again, at least Troy would have visited her.

And he laid down in the grass, uncaring if it stained his white shirt, or if ants decided to use his body as a playground. Because now he was too frustrated to do anything. With a deep exhale, Troy resolved to let his friends worry as much as they wanted--they deserved to. The next chapter of his life started now, and there was no way in hell he would let things be the same.

* * *

**a/n:** _And Monday finally ends! Yep, the last three chapters all spanned the same time. This and chapter 2 technically could have been combined, but that would have been an obnoxiously long chapter. And plus, just like the first cut is the deepest, the first day back in school is the hardest... So, what did you guys think of Troy's poem? First it was "Ring Around the Rosy," then it was that "Fuzzy Wuzzy" thing, and then I changed it again. Was it anything close to what you expected? Hah, I really enjoyed writing that scene _:)

* * *

chapter title/lyrics credit: becoming a monster - self against city


	6. Crash Course in Polite Conversation

_look at it this way: there's your side and there's my side  
and the empty space between, filled with miles of concrete.  
- -_

_Why couldn't school start at a more reasonable time?_ Troy pondered the question as he made his way out of bed. His shirt was soaked from where he tried to keep bags of ice under his arms during the night to ease the pain from the constant pressure on them. He_really_ had to have a word with whoever decided crutches were a good idea. Seriously, they needed to have some common sense knocked into them.

And another thing to add to the list of inconveniences the crutches he needed caused: it was a major pain in the ass to wash up in the morning. That was number, what? Sixty-seven? He was losing count, and it had only been a few days.

His bathroom wasn't the size of the ones that kids with stars in their eyes salivated over when they watched an episode of _Cribs_. It was only a few feet each way, just big enough to squeeze a shower, toilet, and sink in somewhat-comfortably. His crutches barely fit in the gap between the sink and bathtub, and even as he stood to brush his teeth, he wobbled trying to balance on one leg. He was a basketball player, not a gymnast. The thought of throwing the damn things out the window was severely tempting, and he needed an outlet for the pent-up frustration bubbling inside of him. The most he had done was slam a few doors; it wasn't enough. _But,_ if he threw away the walking aids then he'd be forced to stay in the bathroom forever, as his hopping skills had mostly deteriorated since his hopscotch days. His options were most unappealing.

Troy had never particularly minded Fridays. In fact, he didn't know anyone that did. Sure, they weren't Saturdays, but they were almost as good. He was even beginning to annoy himself with his newfound hatred for any day ending in a 'y'.

As he made his way into the kitchen, an array of food caught his eye. His mother had taken to cooking every meal for him since he got hurt. Usually breakfast consisted of a bowl of cereal or a protein bar, but now he had the choice of eggs, pancakes, waffles, and french toast. It was a nice gesture, and the food smelled delicious, but it was just another reminder of how fragile everyone was treating him. A fully balanced meal wasn't going to magically heal him, unfortunately enough.

His father came down just as Troy had nicked a piece of bacon off of the pan his mom was cooking it on. It took a moment for Troy to realize who he was. He didn't think he had ever seen his father look so worn out.

They almost looked like mirror images. Both had eyes with deep circles underneath them, lack of sleep taking its toll. They were both a touch paler, as well. Troy caught his mother staring worriedly at the stove. It seemed she thought they were going for round two.

Troy didn't even know what to expect. But his father just brushed by him, taking a piece of toast and a mug of coffee. His parents were battling silently with their eyes, as if that was any less obvious than outright yelling. It wasn't, and as Troy bit into a waffle he saw his mother shake her head towards him, probably to urge his father to say something.

"Are you ready, Troy?"

He was about to open his mouth, still full of waffle, and ask if it looked like he was ready when his mother turned her gaze on him. As much as he hated his situation, he didn't want to do that to her. He and his father could always have it out in the car, anyway.

"Almost."

Jack gave a quick nod, and turned his attention to the Sports page lying open on the counter.

Some things never changed.

xxx

Troy hadn't seen anyone all week. He figured Chad and the rest were hiding from him, probably already accepting the fact that he wasn't planning on talking to them any time soon. Sharpay hadn't even brushed by him in the hallway to make a rude remark since their last encounter.

So the week was a blur. A long, painful blur. Each class was more boring than the last, and when it came time for English it seemed the "stupid hag" was getting back at him for poetry fiasco by assigning a three page essay due for the upcoming Monday. Yeah, because a bunch of high school kids didn't have anything better to do on a weekend than research quotes by--yet again--some dead people.

He didn't even register much. The throbbing of his knee mostly distracted any rogue thoughts from playing out in his mind. He couldn't take his pills before school, they made him way too drowsy. He had already gone to the Nurse's office twice to beg for some over-the-counter painkillers she might have lying around, but she said she couldn't give them out without a doctor's note. She was a stupid bitch too, he decided, and he wondered if maybe she was in cahoots Ms. Goodwin.

He sat at his desks, tapping his left foot, twiddling his fingers, whatever it took to take his mind off of the pain.

After the final bell, he seemed to have lingered by his locker too long. (It wasn't exactly easy to reach for books on the lower shelf when he almost fell over each time.) The bus had left before he made it to the parking lot, which meant he was stuck waiting until at least five for a ride from his dad. Just another thing to add to the ever-growing list in his head.

He pushed himself onto a set of radiators that lined part of the main entranceway, head resting on the lockers next to it. If he had to wait over an hour, the least he could do was catch a few winks in the meantime. It was just when he closed his eyes that he heard the distinct tapping of high heels on the white-tiled floor.

A teacher walking by was_just_ what he needed at the moment. He could just hear the woman's voice in his head, demanding he get down. Maybe even a detention would be in order.

"_Bolton?_"the voice asked.

Honestly, Troy wasn't even sure if he was relieved it was Sharpay that had found him. He peeked open an eye to see her standing on the other side of him, hands resting on her hips with a questioning look on her face.

"What are you still doing here?"

"Admiring the scenery," he stated uncaring, making an exaggerated gesture to the large window next to him.

"Uh huh."

"What are _you_ still doing here?"

She flicked her wrist, "Oh, you know, I was practicing this new song with Kelsi."

"Trying out for_another_ musical?"

"I guess so."

Troy didn't even have time to ponder what she meant by her last response, because she quickly jumped into a new topic.

"Some advice?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Here," she said holding her hands out, "Give me your crutches."

"What?"

"Just do it," she insisted.

So he handed them over, watching as she took a tissue out of her purse to wipe off the pads at the top first. Typical Sharpay. Then she took out one of the pegs towards the bottom, and his eyebrows shot up in confusion.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You're doing this all wrong," she stated matter-of-factly. "You had them too tall for you. You're not supposed to lean on them like that, you're supposed to use these bars to push yourself up more. The pads are really only there for rest."

Surprisingly, the girl was a master on crutches. She made it the length of the hallway easily, and at a much faster pace than Troy had ever done.

"Now you try."

He lowered himself off of the vent and took them back, trying to keep her advice in mind. Push off the bars? The first time he tried he used all of his upper-body strength to push, which only succeeded in them tilting opposite ways from his body. If she hadn't helped him, he would have been a heap in the hallway.

"Not _that_ hard."

"Yeah," he said sarcastically. "I got that."

Trial number two proved more successful. The height adjustment had actually prevented him from allowing all of his body weight to hang off of them and his underarms practically screamed with appreciation. Suddenly the brick wall at the end of the hallway was appearing faster than he thought it would.

"See what I mean?" she asked, interrupting his concentration as he turned to go back.

"How do you know all this? I don't think I've ever seen you on crutches before."

"Oh, my friend was on them a year back."

"Really? What happened?"

"He decided he was going to be the new Tony Hawk, or something." She laughed, "It really didn't work out that well. He took off down that huge hill next to Oak Street, and he completely wiped out."

"Ouch," Troy cringed. He could almost feel the kid's pain. "What school does your friend go to?"

"This one."

"Wait, you have other friends in East High?"

"Yes?" Her response came out more like a question than an affirmation.

"Oh, I didn't know that."

She shot him a pointed look, "Yeah. You can miss a lot when you walk around with your head up your ass all the time."

"Excuse me?"

"No offense, or anything," she answered, shooting him a cheeky grin. How was he_not_ supposed to take offense to that?

"What are you talking about?"

"Troy, how many times have you actually seen me in school in the past two years?"

"I see you all the time!" he defended, and upon seeing her skeptic look he tried to think back. When _had_ he seen her? She disappeared most days during free period, and he had barely seen her in the halls.

"Hey, what lunch period do you have?" he asked suddenly.

"Fifth, same as yours."

"How come you're never around?"

"Usually I hang out with my other friend."

"_Oh_," he replied with the dawning of realization. "So you've got something going on with this skater-wannabe?"

"No!" she laughed. "Oh God! Kissing him would be like kissing Ryan! Which, for the record, has NEVER happened."

"Good to know," Troy said with a mild smirk. Sometimes people made up some crazy stories for the grape-vine. "So, what's this kid's name?"

"You might know him actually: Noah Davies."

"Uh, why would I know him?"

"He's the announcer at the basketball games."

"Wait, that's done by a student here?"

Sharpay slapped her forehead, seemingly frustrated. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! You and your other little friends are so oblivious to everything else that goes on outside of your little clique. And yes, he does them. His voice isn't anything like that normally, but he deepens it for the games."

Troy inwardly scoffed. Yeah, Miss Sharpay "Ice Princess" Evans was really one to lecture about someone not noticing other people. She walked the school day-in and day-out like she owned the freaking place. But Troy had some trouble thinking when was the last time he saw her saunter down the main hallway, just to attract attention, was. Well, even if he hadn't personally witnessed it lately, he was sure she still did it. She _lived_ for attention, she thrived on it. There was no way someone just flipped the off-switch on her attitude.

"I even sit with him sometimes at games, you know," she offered, breaking the silence.

"Oh. Were you there when..." he trailed off, pointing at his leg.

"Yeah. That was a nasty spill."

That was it? That was all she had to say about it? "That's an understatement."

"So how's it feeling these days?"

"Oh, you know," he stated with a roll of his eyes. "Just like new."

"I'm not an idiot, Bolton. I'm not trying to make small talk, I was just interested. What exactly happened to you, anyway?"

"Torn ACL."

"Nice."

He found himself wondering who this Sharpay imposter was. Sure, she _looked_ like Sharpay Evans, she _walked_ like Sharpay Evans, but she could definitely _not_ be Sharpay Evans. The girl before him hadn't snipped at him once, and it had already been a few minutes. He always knew, on some level, that she had never fully accepted himself and the rest of his friends as her confidantes. No matter what had happened after _Twinkle Towne_, she was still as aloof as ever. In sophomore psychology she was even labeled "Doesn't play well with others." It had been a good way to describe her then, the entire school agreed, so it really was too much to hope for that she'd completely turn around just for their sakes.

He even saw it when he spared her those rare glances, she was struggling to keep herself in check. The night of the musicale premiere, he saw her fists gripped tightly at her sides as she beamed and congratulated Gabriella. He knew that deep down she was picturing strangling her.

"So," she trailed off in the silence that followed.

He raised a brow, "Yeah?"

"That was an interesting poem the other day."

"I thought so too."

"Oh yes, very Nobel Prize-y."

"Very," he agreed, wondering where she'd take this.

"It wasn't really what I was expecting."

"Really? And what_were_ you expecting?"

"Hmm," she stroked her chin, pretending to look thoughtful. "Maybe something more like 'Humpty Dumpty'. It seems more relevant these days."

"Oh, ha ha."

"What? Don't shoot the messenger!"

"You know, you're the only one who's said anything to me about it."

"What about our favorite teacher?"

"Not even her."

"And yet she asks _me_ if I know what my poem means?" Sharpay raised her eyebrows, then trailed off in a laugh, "This school is so skewed."

"You're telling me."

"So what's up, why aren't you off getting fed chicken noodle soup from your doting girlfriend?"

"Because she didn't offer me a soda on the side."

Sharpay laughed loudly at the unexpected joke, which surprised him still. He didn't think she would understand the comeback, let alone find it funny.

"Well that's not very nice of her."

"Are you kidding? It's just straight out cruel."

"Okay, Monotone Man, can you give me something else to work with? I mean, it's not like I don't find your attitude change _entertaining_, but it's just a little freaky after awhile."

"Mmhmm."

"What, no quips?"

"Nope," he shrugged, leaning against the heater with his hands shoved in his jean pockets.

_"Just do it with love, love, love, love!"_

"What the hell was that?" Troy asked, craning his neck to see where the sudden singing had come from.

"Oh, sorry, that's my cell."

She rummaged through her large bag, eventually pulling out the jeweled Sidekick she was known to have.

"It's Noah, hold on a minute."

Troy watched as a huge smile lit her face. She chirped a greeting, certainly more warmly than he ever thought possible. He didn't even know who the girl before him _was_ anymore. It was easy to classify her back in sophomore year. She was snide and rude, and she didn't give a crap. Now... well, now he supposed he didn't really know her much at all to categorize her into one of those little groups that he had in his mind.

"Alright, Stud, I'll be there in a few minutes."

With a laugh, she flipped the phone closed and turned her attention back to Troy.

"I've gotta go. Sorry."

He just watched her as she stood, looking around to make sure she had everything she came with.

"I'll see you around, Bolton," she said with a smile. "You know, you can always hang out with me and Noah sometime. We're not some super-cool jocks, but it could be fun."

She sauntered off, nearly reaching a set of exit doors when he called after her. She turned and cocked her head at the shout of her name, silently asking what he wanted.

"Call me Troy for once, will you?"

Her eyebrows scrunched slightly as he was sure his question caught her off-guard. After a moment she nodded in understanding. The last thing he saw was her smirk before she walked into the blinding Albuquerque sunshine.

He didn't really know why he did it. He hadn't ever felt a dire need to be nice to her. She _did_try to sabotage his first musical, after all. (Like the nerves weren't enough to screw him up as it was.) But for some reason, he couldn't help it.

It was the most normal conversation he had held since his injury. Troy rolled his eyes at himself as he took his former half-sitting, half-laying position; he was starting to sound like a chick. But he still found it weird that sometime in between her showing him how to use his crutches and asking how he was doing, he had forgotten about his knee. Brought back to reality it still hurt just as much as it ever had. He clung to those few moments though, and almost wished Sharpay would walk back through those glass doors, because he was certainly about to go crazy.

Who knew that it'd be the Ice Princess keeping him sane?

xxx

He'd only been home for half an hour and already he was going out of his mind. His father was sitting in the living room watching basketball and Troy wanted to avoid him at all costs, especially after their nearly silent ride home.

He laid on his bed, tossing a basketball up in the air, admiring the way the orange swirled as it went. In the dark it looked like it was combining with the white on his ceiling. The motions soothed him, though. Every time he threw that ball up, he knew it would fall right back into his awaiting hands. There were no tricks, no spontaneous motions, it was calculated and it was something he controlled.

"Troy, like oh-em-gee!" a voice echoed through his head. He could picture the cheerleader from earlier today, blinking her heavily lined eyes and staring widely at him. As he threw the ball into the air again, the surface seemed to come alive with her face. "I just heard about your accident!" it yapped. It was the biggest lie he'd heard in weeks, she was on the sidelines of the Trojans game--he wasn't stupid.

Higher and higher it went; he just wanted it away from him now. He didn't want to see her face, or anyone else's. He didn't want to see that false sympathy he hated so much.

Because the entire school acted like they knew him--like they knew what he was going through. They were all fucking kidding themselves.

A loud ring disturbed his thoughts, and as his head turned to his bedside table where his cell phone sat, he forgot all about the ball in the air. He grunted as it fell heavily onto his stomach. He wasn't really worried about the phone, it was probably just Chad leaving some stupid message again. If Troy wasn't talking to him before, he definitely wasn't about to start now, after four days of no words.

But even as he tried to close his eyes and ignore it, the phone kept ringing. It would stop at the end of its cycle, then start up again. Suddenly he knew it wasn't Chad; he was never that persistent.

**'Sharpay Evans'** the screen flashed in the darkness.

"Hello?"

"Finally! Jeez, I've been calling you for, like, five minutes!"

"Sorry."

She laughed on the other line, "No you're not."

"You're right. So why exactly are you calling me?"

"Me and Noah are hitting Chelsey Hargrove's party tomorrow night. You wanna come with?"

"Yeah right."

"Oh, come on, Troy. Sitting in your house all day has _got_ to be driving you crazy. Just make an appearance, and if you get bored then we'll leave."

Troy grinded his teeth, mulling over the situation. She was right, he was sick and tired of sitting around doing nothing, but the thought of being around his schoolmates voluntarily didn't exactly tickle his fancy either. But with a sigh, he muttered out a "Fine," as the need to get away from his parents and his room eventually won out.

As he flipped the phone shut and rolled over to go to sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that by Sunday morning he'd be regretting his decision.

* * *

chapter title/lyrics credit: crash course in polite conversation - gameface


	7. Step Outside Yourself

_yeah you're sick, yeah you're tired...  
might take a heart attack to prove that you're still alive now.  
- -_

"No mom," Troy breathed in frustration. "There won't be any alcohol there."

She shot him a skeptical look, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, mom."

"And this Chelsey Hargrove is responsible?"

"Yes, mom."

"And who did you say you were going with?"

"Sharpay Evans and Noah Davies."

"Oh, Sharpay is such a little darling! I remember when she was the Christmas Angel at that play you had in fourth grade. But Noah, do I know him?"

"No, mom."

"And how old is he?"

"Mom!" Troy shouted exasperatedly.

"I'm just kidding, Troy," she said with a laugh. "Of course you can go. Have a good time."

"Mom, you suck!" he shouted over his back, turning his head to throw her a smile to make sure she knew he was joking.

Two minutes later he was at the end of the cul-de-sac outside of his house, waiting for someone to pick him up. Sharpay, of course, had insisted they all be fashionably late, but he didn't think that accounted for the time she told him she'd pick him up, too. Troy grumbled under his breath--she really was just the same old drama queen.

The sun had set long ago and stars twinkled annoyingly above him. As he contemplated a world-wide conspiracy theory against him, Sharpay pulled up in a black Honda. Funny, he had always pegged her for the silver Porsche kind of girl.

"Took you long enough," tumbled out of his lips as soon as he yanked open the passenger door.

"Sorry, turns out Ryan took the Porsche tonight and he graciously left me with this_thing_."

Huh. Figures. "So where's this Noah you've been talking about? I assume he isn't an imaginary friend?"

"Tsk tsk," she chastised. "You know what they say about assuming things."

"That you shouldn't?" he questioned.

She simply laughed as she drove out of his neighborhood, completely ignoring a stop sign on the corner. "Nevermind."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Where's Noah?"

"Up here," she said, tapping her temple. Upon seeing his scowl she laughed again, "I'm kidding, _jeez._ He's driving himself since his parents _so_ wouldn't believe _I_ went to see a shark movie with him."

"Wait...what?"

"He didn't want to tell his parents he was going to Chelsey's--something about their parents hating each other--so he told them he was going to the IMAX to see some whacked shark movie."

"Oh," was his simple response. Because really, what the hell was he supposed to say to something like that?

On the radio, some whiny pop singer lamented losing the love of her life (or some shit) as they headed toward a different side of town. Sharpay sang along, tapping her fingers in tempo on the steering wheel; Troy suddenly felt very unsafe and gripped his seatbelt tighter.

"We're here!" she announced moments later. It was an unnecessary proclamation, as the tons of cars lining the sidewalks and blasting music was proof enough.

"Can I drop you off here a minute while I park? I'm probably going to have to go down the street a little, and I don't think you're up for walking that."

The concern was strange. Especially coming from her, so he just nodded and stepped out.

The brisk breeze ruffled his hair as he stood, illuminated by porch lights and tiki torches. As he watched fallen leaves tumble in a swirl his mind couldn't help but go back to the past few days. He hated it. He hated that he was forced to relive those damn days over and over again until they lost whatever little meaning they ever had. He hated the apologetic looks that he knew were so half-hearted.

It was amazing how abruptly things could change when you blinked for just one blind moment. Inches away the leaves kept moving, turning and twirling across the asphalt of the driveway's edge. For a moment he wondered if it was a stupid notion to be able to connect to inanimate objects--because in that moment he could see himself, spinning without the hope or sight as to know where he'd end up.

"Finally!" a voice shouted from his right before an arm pulled him into a hug of sorts, fully snapping him out of his trance. "I've been waiting for ten minutes!"

"Uh, good for you?" A voice inside his head (one that sounded strangely like his mother's) scoffed as he wondered if the kid was drunk already.

"Well come on, let's go!"

"I'm actually waiting for someone."

"Well I've been waiting for you. Short-sleeves in October wasn't my brightest idea, so can we just go inside?"

Great. Not only was the kid drunk, but he was _hitting_ on him.

"Look, bro, just get out of here, alright?"

"Wait, are you saying you don't know who I am?"

"Should I?"

"Noah!" a girl shouted in the distance. As Troy squinted through the darkness he could see it was Sharpay's outline coming closer.

"Woah, woah, woah,_this_ is Noah?"

"Duh!" she said laughing, "What did you think?"

Troy closed his gaping mouth. When Sharpay had talked about him, he figured Noah was some scrawny freshman with red hair and vicious acne. The guy standing next to him instead stood just as tall as himself, with messy dark brown hair and a casual air about him. He had some obscure band name printed in bold letters on his t-shirt (at least he hoped it was a band name, and not an advertisment for a killer's taxi cab), and his not quite loose jeans were well-worn and faded.

"I don't know, Sharpie, should I be offended your new friend doesn't recognize me?"

"No, no. He's recently got some work done at the ICU, and now his head is fully removed from his ass. I'm sure the view is better now, what do you think, Troy?"

He thought he was getting a little sick of all of her jokes.

"Whatever. Are we just gonna stand here, or are we going in?"

"Andiamo!" Noah shouted, ushering Troy and Sharpay in the house before he followed them.

Troy hadn't been to many house parties before. After a big game sometimes there was a get-together at Jason's house, but it was nothing near these proportions. Usually he preferred the company of his closest friends, never really needing anyone else to be by his side.

Sharpay seemed to be right at home as she grabbed an unopened can of soda and popped the tab as she danced into the house. Noah walked in casually, hands in pockets and whistling a merry tune to himself. Even he seemed comfortable in this situation; it was a bit nerve-racking.

"Sharpay, you're here!" a short brunette exclaimed, practically skipping up to them.

"What's up, Chels?"

"Not much, Girlie Girl," she stuck a cup of a bright blue drink at her, "Want some?"

"No thanks, I'm D.D. tonight."

"Ew, that sucks majorly."

"Yeah well, someone's gotta take care of this schmuck."

"Ooh, Noah's here too!" she then curled her spindly arms around him and pulled him close. "Mmm, you smell good. Find me after I've got another cup of this in me, mmkay?"

"Sure Chelsey," Noah said with a small smile and a roll of his eyes.

"Like, oh my wow. Is that Troy Bolton? How cool! I _so_ wasn't expecting you here. Who did you come with?"

"Us," Sharpay piped up.

"_Really_? Huh, that's...interesting. Ooh, well I think I see Justin; I heard he's available now that he dumped that trash. I'll catch up with you guys later!"

"Six," Noah said out of nowhere.

"Nope, I give it four," Sharpay said. They then shook hands.

"You want in, Troy?" Noah asked with a sideways grin.

"I don't really get it."

"It's easy. We just bet on how many drinks it will take for Chelsey to start dancing on the tabletops."

"Funny how her boyfriend never seems to be around in times like these," Sharpay remarked off-handedly.

This Chelsey Hargrove was beginning to sound better and better. _Not._

"Maybe I'll get back to you."

"Sounds good. I'm going to go ask Brittany something, can I trust you two boys to not kill each other while I'm gone?"

Noah glanced between the two of them, "_Maybe_."

"Well, just don't get blood on the carpet! Tootles!"

Apparently Sharpay was the glue keeping them comfortable, because as her sashaying hips moved further away, the silence between the two boys increased steadily. Noah stood, rocking on his heels, hands in his pockets and surveying the crowd of people before him quietly. But Troy Bolton didn't know the meaning of "nerves," so he figured it'd have to be him to break the silence.

"So, you and Sharpay are friends?" A very eloquent start to conversation, indeed.

"Yep."

"I see."

"Yeah."

He silently thanked whoever was watching out for him _up there_ when Chelsey stumbled over and latched onto his arm, motioning to Noah they'd only be a minute.

"Troy, Troy, the_basketball_ boy," she said with a slight slur, trailing a finger across his chest.

"Uh, hi?"

"I'm surprised you're here. Especially because everyone else is in there. But I guess that doesn't really matter to you much anymore..."

Chelsey went on, but Troy found his attention wandering as he noticed three bulky football players cross the threshold to stand in front of Noah. They said something to him, and his eyes widened slightly.

"You guys really wouldn't hurt me," Troy could make out Noah's voice say, accented by a nervous chuckle. "Because that would be so clichéd."

Suddenly two of them grabbed his legs and the third grabbed his arms as they all lifted him above their heads and headed towards the doors leading outside to the deck. Just as they were nearing them, Noah muttered a "Oh, I guess you're fans of the cliché," with a deep exhaled breath that had Troy thinking he was used to this treatment. He was torn between amusement and wondering if he should help him out.

The resounding splash of the inground pool outside told him it was a little too late for that. He just hoped Noah could swim.

"...but gosh! _No one_ saw that coming!"

"Uh, yeah. I'm really thirsty, which way's the kitchen?"

"Ooh, I don't think you want to go that way."

"Why not?"

"Haven't you been listening to me at all?"

Troy just stared at her unblinkingly.

"Because if you go in the kitchen you'll have to pass by the living room and if you pass by the living room you'll see something you really don't wanna see!" she rushed out.

Turning his head at the almost incomprehensible words was a spontaneous action; just as someone always did the opposite of what someone explicity warns them against--it's all human nature. And that was when he saw it. Seated at a couch not even ten feet away was Gabriella, but that wasn't what bothered him. What clenched his jaw, curled his fists, and turned his stomach was the sight of Charlie Duncan seated next to her with his left arm thrown casually over her shoulders. He was saying something and she was laughing, playfully swatting at his shoulder.

Troy knew Charlie had always wanted to get back at him--for what, he didn't really know--but moving in on his girlfriend was a low blow. But then he began to wonder: were they really even dating anymore? There hadn't been an official breakup, but he hadn't talked to her in over a week, which had to constitute as _something_. Still, there was no way he would let that scumbag anywhere near her.

"Wo-hoah, Troy!" His concentration was temporarily taken off the two as one of the skaters called his name. He vaguely remembered him as being friends with the cello-playing skater. Chelsey, however, seemed to have disappeared sometime during his transfixtion.

"What's up?"

"Dude, why are you just standing around like this?"

"I didn't bring my dancing shoes." The answer, though completely sarcastic and deadpanned, seemed to appease the boy before him. He wasn't sure if he just didn't care, or if he really didn't notice Troy was on crutches.

"Cool, cool. Wanna come chill with us?"

He hesitated for a moment before spitting out a "Uh sure, why not?" Because after all, he really didn't have a reason to decline the offer. Sharpay was still off gossiping, or doing who-knows-what, and Noah was probably drying off somewhere if the football idiots weren't using him as target practice. Troy wasn't worried about Sharpay's friend, though; if the football players _were_ doing something like that, odds were they'd never catch Noah anyway. None of them were particularly good at catching moving objects, even if said object was almost six feet tall.

Besides, earlier in the day Sharpay had texted him with a simple message: Step outside yourself. He hadn't really known what it meant then, but he had a feeling she was talking about something like this. Not even back in the age of "Breaking Free" would he have ventured off with one of the skaters, and now he'd be in a whole room of them.

Skater kid (whose name he really needed to find out) led him upstairs and down a wide hallway, finally coming to what looked like a second living room. Troy inwardly scoffed, thinking rich people had way too many unnecessary frivolties. But the first thing he noticed was a cloud of smoke that filled the atmosphere, followed by a foul stench that he had never smelt before. A few people occupied various couches and armchairs, some laughing hysterically, others subdued, and a few passed out.

"Greg!" one of them half-shouted/half-slurred. "Dude, Toby came in with more beer and some good quality shit."

"Well what are you waiting for?" Skater kid, apparently known as Greg, questioned. "Light that shit up!"

Troy watched in shock as the boy sprawled out on a couch pulled a plastic baggy out of his jacket pocket. Inside of it were pieces of white paper, and what he could only assume (after completing a semester of health class) as marijuana. There was that tiny voice inside his head, the one that sounded like his mother's, telling him to high-tail it out of there. But then it seemed like the little cartoon-devil appeared on his other shoulder, and it told him to go for it. Because sitting in a room with people doing this kind of stuff was most definitely stepping outside of himself. More like stepping out, and running like a bat out of hell, actually.

Greg and his friend set to work rolling the drug on the coffee table as Troy watched in a slight awe. He'd joked in the past about all of the skaters being potheads, as their speech and actions usually pointed to it, but he had never taken it seriously before. In his innocent world of basketball drills and musicales, he often forgot that there were people outside of his bubble who dabbled in things a bit more risque.

"Yo, T-dude, you want a hit?" Greg offered.

"Nah man, he's straight-edge! Don't bother with him," his friend responded.

The devil was back, sitting on his right shoulder and cackling evilly into his ear.

"Well at least have a beer!"

So Troy took it. He took it without second-guessing the actions, or the inevitable consequences.

An hour later the slight effects of the alcohol had worn off, and he couldn't help but think back to Gabriella looking so damn comfortable with his arch enemy. Then when his knee gave a painful throb, his eyes darted guiltily around the room of unaware inhabitants. The music pumped around him from the top-of-the-line sound system downstairs, pulsating through the floor, and he stopped hesitatating before unscrewing the cap of prescription pain killers in his pocket, and he downed a palmful of them washed down with another bottle of beer. He was past caring.

Most of the people in the room were awake now, getting their second wind. They all made a circle of sorts, and when the rolled paper slipped from the hands of the person next to him into his own, he didn't even feel remorse in breaking every "Just Say No" campaign he'd ever seen.

As the paper touched his lips for a fleeting moment, the door of the room flew open and Sharpay stormed in.

"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded in a way that only she could. It got the dozen people around him scattering to cover their tracks. All Troy could do was watch, not noticing as the joint slipped from his lips and fell onto the carpet, burning a hole straight through it.

He was sure he had never been more scared of Sharpay Evans in his life.

* * *

**a/n:**_ More dialogue, _le sigh_, I just can't flipping get away from it! Ah well, what can you do? As long as it's not too distracting then it's all good in the hood. I don't even think I like this chapter much. The end was one of the scenes I had planned from the beginning, but I'm still a little unsure about it. _

_The skater I mentioned above is the one who's friends with cello dude--you know, the one with the hat and the dazed & confused way that makes him seem like he could be a stoner. (Did they ever give either of them names?) Anyways, soooo what do you guys think will happen now that Sharpay's caught Troy ::gasp:: smoking .. and drinking .. and taking bunches of pills? Part II of the party should be up by next weekend, and after you all leave me lovely little reviews which motivate me bundles_ : ) _ 'Til next week, lovies .._

_

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_chapter title/lyrics credit: come out with your hands up - step outside yourself - over it


	8. Controversy Loves Company

_who is it tonight, dr. jekyll or mr. hyde?  
- -_

"So, wait. You're telling me Troy Bolton is coming to a party with _us_?"

"Yeah, kinda random, I know."

On the other end of the phone line, Sharpay heard Noah chuckle slowly. "No kidding. How did this even happen?"

"I don't know, really. It seems like I'm the only one who's even talking to the kid anymore. It's beyond strange."

"Fair enough. Alright, so the parental units are blissfully unaware. I'm leaving in ten minutes, and as far as they know I'm going to the IMAX."

"Very sneaky, Noah," she commented lightly, switching the phone from right shoulder to left.

"Stealth is what I aim for."

"I can tell. Okay, I'm leaving in a few minutes too. We'll meet you there."

With a "Bye," the line clicked to an end and Sharpay threw her gleaming Sidekick carelessly into her sparkly purse. Chelsey Hargrove's party...with Troy Bolton. Even the thought in her head sounded weird, but she couldn't turn her back on him now, not when she practically forced the outing on him.

As she teased her blonde locks in the mirror, trying to get just the right volume, Ryan passed by her doorway. He peeked his head in slowly, surveying the array of clothes all over the place.

"Party tonight?" he questioned with a grin.

"But of course. Chelsey's parents are out of town."

"Again? That's the third time this month."

"I know, it's so great. I don't think she knows what she's getting into tonight, though. From what I've heard, the entire school knows about this party. Her house is definitely going to be full to capacity."

"Sounds like a train wreck waiting to happen."

"I know, right? I can't wait!"

Ryan laughed, tilting his head to the side as he did. "Fill me in tomorrow."

"Not coming? What, got a hot date?"

"Yeah, and that reminds me, I'm taking the Porsche tonight."

"What?" she whined, "You can't! This is _my_ weekend!"

"Sorry, I promise you can have it the next two in a row."

"No way! I've had to drive that little junk-mobile way too much lately."

The puppy dog pout, complete with jutting of the lower lip and widened shining eyes, did her over. "_Please_."

"Ugh," she sighed, "Fine, take it. But you _so _owe me."

"Of course I do. Love ya sis, have fun!"

As his lime green Polo disappeared from view, Sharpay grunted angrily and flung herself onto the bed. The night wasn't starting out well at all. Hoping her parents wouldn't notice the tornado that hit her bedroom, she resolved to wait until tomorrow to clean it. Once she grabbed her $20 a tube lip gloss from her bureau, she was out the door with a slam behind her. Ignoring the protests echoing somewhere from within the house at being more careful, she quickly shouted a "I'll be home by one!" and disappeared through the french doors.

She was already late to pick up Troy, that she knew. She also knew he'd probably be a little more than pissed about it. (It seemed he was pissed about _everything_ these days.) But he'd just have to deal with that, because fashionably late was a staple of the Sharpay Evans handbook and Troy really needed to learn the world didn't exist solely to benefit him. Actually, all of the jocks at East High could do with learning that lesson.

The cul-de-sac she remembered back from the Elementary school birthday parties his parents used to invite the whole grade to appeared in her vision, and there was Troy standing at the edge of it. She was right, he looked awfully perturbed. To his credit, though, he seemed to be censoring himself.

The sarcastic banter that she had began to expect from him lasted the length of the car ride (well, the part that didn't involve her singing to the radio and him sitting in an uncomfortable silence). It was still a strange thing to comprehend after him being one way for so long, but she had to admit it was sort of a refreshing change to have him actually standing his own ground for once. If there was one thing Gabriella Montez had done to him, it was that she passed along her sweetness; maybe it sounded like a good thing, but in Sharpay's eyes it just made him weak.

She'd rather be a bitch than a pushover any day.

Walking a broken sidewalk in stilettos wasn't exactly fun--she'd definitely have blisters the next morning--but the length of the street on which Chelsey lived was lined with cars. Sharpay had dropped Troy off first so that he wouldn't be put through the pain of walking, and as she approached the doorway she noticed, with extreme amusement, that Troy looked annoyed with Noah.

"Look, bro," she heard him say, "Just get out of here, alright?"

Noah seemed confused. "Wait, are you saying you don't know who I am?"

"Should I?"

So she decided to help them both out by shouting "Noah!" from her place a few feet away.

Troy looked puzzled as he challenged her valididity, but at Noah's prompt they all headed into the overcrowded house. Sharpay grabbed a soda as she danced her way into the house, letting the loud rhythm of the music settle her nerves. Tonight she would finally let loose some of the steam built up during the week. Maybe Troy would even enjoy himself for once since his injury, too.

Excusing herself soon after, she wound her way over to Brittany, a sophomore she had met earlier in the year in environmental studies. Sometimes it felt a little strange to have certain friends so much younger than her, but the tenth graders this year were surprising cool--cooler than most people in her own grade, that was for sure.

"Sharpay!" the short brunette squealed, launching herself into a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "What's going on?"

"Not too much, I just got here. So, fill me in on the gossip."

"Well," she began, head bending closer and eyes darting to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. "Word is that Justin and Adriana just broke up."

"No way! They were, like, _so_ in love yesterday."

"Ah, but that was yesterday."

"So who cheated?"

"Well, Beverly told me that Angie's cousin Christine was in town yesterday, and apparently she and Justin bumped into each other at Starbucks and one thing led to another..."

"Wow. Has the blowup happened yet?"

"Not yet. I'm practically itching in anticipation!" Brittany said with a huge smile. This was why Sharpay loved talking to her. She knew to have fun, and it was quite funny how excited she got over other people's fights. Whenever there was a brawl in the hallways she was always right in the front of the crowd yelling "Fight! Fight!" No senior Sharpay knew was so comfortable with who they were.

"Wait a minute," she said suddenly. "Why are you letting me prattle on about Justin? Is that _Troy Bolton_ standing with Noah? I thought you didn't really hang with him or his friends that much."

"I don't. I'm just doing my good deed for the week."

"How very _Pay It Forward_ of you."

"Hey, whatever it takes. You know me, I'm totally committed to helping society."

"Mmhmm, _sure_. It's kind of crazy that he's here though. Chels just told me that Gabriella and all those people got here a little while ago."

Sharpay scrunched her forehead; of all nights they had to pick to actually hit a party, they had to pick the night Troy decided to go to one? The universe definitely sucked. "That's not good. Or maybe it is, I don't know. Maybe they'll actually talk to each other, or whatever."

"I don't know. I _also_ heard from reliable sources that Miss Montez was seen being pursued by a certain Charlie Duncan."

Her heart sunk a little at that last comment. So Charlie, too, had a crush on the brainiac? What was with the star basketball players flocking to her? Did she have a bright neon sign with an arrow pointing to herself that Sharpay was oblivious to?

"What do you mean?" She asked, instead of saying something completely inappropriate about someone she was supposed to be _cool_ with.

"According to Lesley, he 'sweats' her. But since those are her words, not his, I can't confirm their accuracy."

"So I guess I should keep Troy away from wherever they are."

"Yeah. Last I heard they were in the den next to the kitchen." After a pause she spoke again, "Actually, it doesn't look like you'll need to. Isn't that him hobbling off with Greg Aitchison?"

"What's Troy doing with a skater? As far as I know, he doesn't even know his name! Him and all the stupid basketball jocks crack jokes about them all the time, saying they're potheads or whatever."

"Well, they are."

A raise of eyebrows, "They are?"

"Yeah, you didn't know? They light up, like, every day. Sometimes even during school out by the bleachers, or in someone's car."

"Great, and Troy just walked off with one of them."

Brittany laughed, "Oh come _on_, Sharpay. You can't honestly tell me you're worried about Troy Bolton smoking. He's practically as angelic as Gabriella. There's no way."

"Yeah, you're right," Sharpay consented. Troy would never get involved in something so pointless and dangerous. So swiping an unopened bottle of water from off of one of the random tables littering the house, she grabbed her friend's hand and moved towards the dance floor. It was time to let loose.

She lost track of how many songs had passed. Anthems of promiscuous girls, glamorous girls, girlfriends, and pop, locking, and dropping it had flown by in a random jumble of fast tempos and fun lyrics. She couldn't even count the number of people who had appeared at her side on Chelsey's outdoor deck (the makeshift dance floor).

She could vaguely recall Charlie's eyes following her from across the room sometime during_Here (In Your Arms)_, calculating and mysterious as always, but the second she caught his gaze he would just smirk and turn his head. She remembered nodding her head towards him, indicating he should join her, but he just shook his; it was understandable, he hardly seemed like the dancing type. But she wondered if he would dance if Gabriella had asked him to.

It was when _Chicken Noodle Soup_ came on that Sharpay thought of Troy and laughed at the conversation they had held yesterday. Looking into the glass doors of the house, she scanned the avocado-colored walls for a clock. From her spot in the crowd she could slightly make out the numbers 11:25. It had been over an hour since she saw Troy (or Noah actually, but that didn't worry her as much because he could hold his own in a place like this). Shouting a quick "Be right back" to the people she was dancing with, she walked bare-footed into the house, having discarded her heels long ago.

The carpet felt soft to the touch after stomping around on wood for so long, but she couldn't revel in the feeling, as more pressing matters had to be dealt with. She was sure she was overreacting, and Troy was probably just hanging around with Noah or something. Or maybe he had even stumbled upon his friends and they were kissing and making up at the moment.

"Chels!" Sharpay shouted, noticing her as one of the only people in the room she recognized. As the night wore on it seemed that more and more people not from East High had been showing up.

"Sharpay!" the girl squealed in response, throwing her arms around her in a sloppy manner.

"Hey, have you seen Troy?"

"_Noooo_, not since he saw Garlie and Chabby having sex on the couch!" With that highly intelligent response, she stumbled off to launch herself into the arms of someone else. It wasn't the fact that Gabriella and Charlie had been allegedly having sex on the couch that bothered her--that statement was pretty much null anyways, since Chelsey hadn't even had the sense to get their actual names right--it was the fact that Troy had seen them doing whatever it was they were doing. If Sharpay knew Chelsey, and she did pretty well, then she knew the girl would have endlessly tried to throw herself at him over the duration of the night. But if she hadn't seen him, then he really must have stayed with Greg, and _that_ was worrisome enough.

The second floor of the Hargrove home was a mess of strewn bodies and drifting tunes. Room after room she had checked for the illusive Troy Bolton, but to no avail. For both of their sakes, she hoped he was in the last unopened door; she had seen enough half-naked bodies trying to get somewhere their lead-heavy body parts wouldn't allow in the darkness; and she really did never understand the need to drink so much in such a short span of time. People were idiots.

The last room Sharpay remembered as Chelsey's father's study. Before she even reached the door she could imagine the perfectly stocked bookshelves, tidy couches, and gleaming pine computer desk. But as she entered the room, smoke swirled around her head and she gagged. Surely enough, there were all the skaters in the center of the smoke and smell. They looked inexplicably surprised at her barging in.

"What the hell is going on here?" she shouted. Maybe Chelsey wasn't the brightest crayon in the box--say, a moss green as opposed to a tickle me pink--but she definitely didn't deserve to have her house trashed by these losers. Her parents would be home late tomorrow night, and it was unlikely that by then the smell of what was surely weed would clear out as it hung to every fabric in the room.

As she moved further in, swatting at the smoke to clear it from around her head, she noticed with unsettling dread that there was a very familiar face in the crowd. "Troy, what the fuck are you doing?" she nearly shrieked, pulling what was indeed a joint from between his lips. The stupid thing had dropped to the floor before she grabbed it, burnt a hole through the expensive carpeting, and he still picked it back up to rest between his lips.

This was _not_ Troy Bolton. At first she had gotten a kick out of the way his personality had begun to change, but now things were just getting out of hand. Smoking? And if the beer bottles lying near to him were any indication, he'd been drinking too.

Perfect. Screwing up the school's golden boy was _exactly_ what Sharpay needed to be credited with.

"What do you mean?" he asked loudly. He stood to his full height, balancing on the wall next to him for support, and making her stare up at him. His eyes were the darkest blue she had ever seen them. They looked dangerous.

"What does it sound like I mean?"

He scoffed, "Fuck if I know."

"Alright, everyone, OUT! Get out of the room, get out of this house! I don't care if you have to stumble blindly your way out of here, if you don't leave I_will_ call the cops on your bum asses. Do I make myself clear?" her voice boomed with anger, and even with their clouded judgement the guys, and one or two girls, scattered out of the room on wobbly legs.

Troy moved to turn around and continue his previous activities on his own when she grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. It was a mistake, she realized too late. His inebriated state hadn't expected the sudden movement, and he accidentally placed weight onto his right leg.

The face he made afterwards wasn't very pretty.

"What are you doing?" he shouted. "You're tryna kill me, aren't you? Yep, that's what you want. You want me gone so you can go sleep with the musical and be in Noah! Wait," his eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement. "That got mixed up."

"Troy!" she grabbed his face, forcing his dilated eyes to look into hers, "Stop it."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"Well, it looks like I am."

"If I wanna drink a beer, I'll drink a beer! If I wanna smoke, then I'll smoke! If I wanna take five pills instead of one, I'll do it! If I wanna say a poem about a spider, then I'll say it! And if I wanna do something really crazy, like kiss you, I will!"

Sharpay had barely opened her mouth when Troy's head dipped to capture her questioning.

And she was still surprised, even if he had technically told her of his actions firsthand. But this was _Troy_. Since when did he go around randomly kissing Ice Princesses? She wasn't even aware as she started involuntarily responding to him, pulling at his shirt to get him closer, because all of her thoughts and words were lost from her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, lips attacking almost brutally. It was then her knees buckled, as she found herself pushed against the wall Troy had previously been using to balance.

The light scrape of his nails trailing her skin, up dangerously higher under her skirt seemed to trigger her senses back into action. His breath was a terrible mix of beer mingling with weed. Suddenly she was outraged, and she pulled away from the kiss, trying to tell herself _that_ was what she wanted. He was wasted, and she was being used. He probably wouldn't even remember this in the morning.

"Wha-?" he started to say.

Before Sharpay got a chance to curse him out, or before Troy even got a chance to finish his question, his eyes rolled back and he began falling towards the floor at an alarming rate.

* * *

**a/n:**_ So yeah, I broke my own rule about chapters in Sharpay's POV. But, whatever, this is only the second one and it just came out. I figured it was better than making you wait while I tried to get everything else in order._

_Hmm, I think I should definitely do a spinoff story called "Everybody Loves Noah." Haha, I wouldn't, but you guys are seriously great for liking him so much. I know sometimes OCs aren't well-received, especially since HSM has so many characters to work with, so it's cool that something about him stands out in the few short parts he's been in. I can definitely guarantee him in the next chapter._

_

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_chapter title/lyrics credit: dance halls turn to ghost towns - controversy loves company - the audition_  
_


	9. Telling Secrets to Strangers

_take it how you want it,there's no way around these played out scenes.  
they don't mean anything.  
- -_

Among the indistinguishable thoughts running rogue throughout Troy's head when he awoke was 'Yuck' (and another four letter word that just-so-happened to rhyme with it).

His throat was almost literally as dry as a piece of sandpaper, and the taste in his mouth was far from the minty-fresh feeling he loved so much. Not to mention his head was pounding so loudly he could practically feel his brain start to spill out of his ears. All of this and he hadn't even opened his eyes yet. He was scared to do so, though, because he just knew the early morning sun would be worse than blinding.

But as he lifted his heavy lids, he noticed there wasn't an ounce of light in his room. Upon being able to focus, he realized both the blinds and curtains were pulled tight over his window, and the black sheet that had been crumpled into a ball in the corner of his room was hung up over everything as a reinforcement. He wondered if he'd had enough sense (or energy) to do all that once he got home, but that was when he discovered he couldn't _remember_ how he got home.

His memories of the night before started to fade at the edges once some kid named Craig (that _was_ his name, right?) brought him into another room. He couldn't recall much of what went on there, but the pulsating confusion through his head gave him a pretty good idea. There had been Sharpay and Noah, then Chelsey Hargrove... and Charlie Duncan with his arm around Gabriella.

Then the pain got stronger.

"Dammit, thank God!" a voice laced with sleep said from his left.

That was when he noticed Sharpay Evans, eyeliner smudged beneath brown eyes and hair in disarray, curled up in the recliner his parents had moved from the living room two days ago. A lump on the floor next to it began to stir, and a mess of brown hair and a black t-shirt emerged to peek up at him from under the quilt Granny Bolton knit for him for his tenth birthday.

"See, I told you you didn't kill him."

Sharpay shot Noah a glare before sitting up suddenly. She walked over to his window and stood, hands on hips. "Good, because I wouldn't want him to miss this."

Then his eyes were filled with a bright white. The bitch had let the shades open.

"Cheer up, Emo Kid," she said with a sadistic grin.

"It's a brand new day," Noah continued after a pause.

Then they looked sideways at each other and laughed, sharing some kind of private joke. That only succeeded in pissing Troy off more.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Troy muttered weakly, trying to block the rays dancing throughout his room.

"No," Sharpay replied. "I think a better question is: what the hell is wrong with _you?_"

"Hey, I think I'll just go get some bagels from the kitchen. Who wants bagels?" And with those parting words, Sharpay and Troy were stuck in a staring match. Sharpay, unsurprisingly, won out and Troy turned his head as a deep frown etched into his features. Without Noah's presence, it seemed the Ice Bitch was back.

"So?" she questioned, letting her hands once again come to rest on her hips.

"What now?"

"Are you going to answer my question? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me!"

She scoffed, "Yeah right! Troy, I'm not claiming I ever knew you, but I do know that you don't drink or smoke or whatever the hell else you were doing last night. So, now I want to know why! Why now, all of a sudden, have you changed into such a different person? You want to hold a grudge against Gabriella or Chad? Fine, that's understandable. But I don't see why you need to throw all your morals out the window. You're being such a jackass, Troy. One day you're going to wake up and wonder 'what the fuck was I thinking?' but by then it will be too late."

"You know what, Sharpay? Just leave me alone. I didn't ask for you to give a shit about whatever I'm doing, alright? You're barely my friend, and you're right, you don't know me. So just do me a favor and leave me alone!"

"I can't do that," she said quieter.

"Why not?"

"Because...just because."

"Well, on that _stimulating_ note..."

"Give me a break, Troy. I'm trying to help you here."

The screaming tones echoed in his head long after they were spoken, and they all swirled circles of confusion within him. Every second was the steady rhythm of a hammer beating slowly on the inside of his skull. He just wanted to stop fighting with her, but he couldn't. He wouldn't let her have the satisfaction in getting the last word in again, just like she always did.

"Didn't we already go over this? I never asked you to bother with me. Why don't you just go fucking hang out with Chad, Gabriella, and Charlie. You can all have a jolly old time talking shit about me."

"Troy, get_ over _yourself! Wow, can we say _paranoid_? I mean, slow down Stalin, not everyone in the world is out to get you."

He just glared at her, momentarily lacking a good comeback. It was the first time anyone had ever spoke to him like that. Usually the kids at school were too afraid to get on his bad side to say anything so truthful, and his friends had the tendency to avoid saying anything that would cause an argument. On some level, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, it felt a lot like it did that day in school when she was the only one to treat him like he wouldn't crumble. In a strange way she was the only semblance of normal he had right now; it still didn't mean that he was welcoming this normalcy though, Sharpay was _still_ a bitch.

"I come bearing food," Noah said as he walked in with a plate of bagels. "Are all claws retracted?"

"Yeah," Troy grumbled as Sharpay simply shrugged.

She took a bagel off the plate and immediately started laughing. "Jesus, Noah, what the hell did you do to these poor bagels? They look mutilated."

"Well _excuse me_. I had to actually cut them with a knife! Troy, I don't know how your family survives without a bagel-cutter."

"A _what_?" Noah really was seeming stranger by the minute.

"Noah's parents are a bit--how should I put this?--culinary challenged."

"If it involves a kitchen, we all just suck," Noah supplied.

"Yeah, so their favorite appliance is this bagel slicing thing. It's actually pretty cool."

Troy just shook his head and grabbed a bagel slathered with cream cheese, taking notice that they _did_ look mutilated. The room was silent for a few minutes, each occupied with eating and Troy and Sharpay busy trying not to bite the other's head off.

"Where are my parents?" he finally asked, just then realizing they would be particularly concerned with a girl spending the night in his room.

"Up in Santa Fe visiting your grandma for the day, they left early this morning," Noah supplied.

"How exactly do you know that?"

"They told us when we called them last night."

"You called them? What did you say? Wait, how did I get here?"

"I'll let Sharpay fill you in on the genius of our plan."

"Why thank you, Stud. Basically last night me and Noah over here had to haul your ass out of Chelsey's house. So Noah called your mom and told her you were spending the night at his house because you passed out after playing Grand Theft Auto for a few hours."

"She bought that?"

"Completely. Just be thankful you have a first-story bedroom. It was hard enough getting you in through the window as it was."

"So you're saying the two of you snuck me into my own house after lying to my parents?"

"Yeah, basically."

"Wouldn't have just been easier to actually bring me to one of your houses?"

Sharpay scoffed, "Hah, yeah right. You try explaining the hungover teenaged boy they've never seen before. I mean, what do you think, our parents are blind?"

A high pitched chirping sound tore them all from conversation as Noah fished in his jean's pocket for his phone. There were a few quiet murmurings until he closed the phone and reopened it before dialing a new number.

"Sorry," he spoke after another short phone call. "My mom wants the Range Rover back, I think she's getting suspicious. So Brittany's gonna drive me over there to pick it up."

"Brittany?" Sharpay questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, I figured she'd be the only other person there last night who won't be sporting a hangover."

"You sure that's the only reason?"

"Um, yes?"

"You sure you don't _like_ her? Huh, crushing on a sophomore?" Sharpay began sing-songing.

"Woah, take it easy on the assumptions there, Killer. We both know what happens when you assume something," he replied with a grin.

Troy's forehead wrinkled for a moment. That was the second time in two days he'd heard the phrase and to be honest, he really didn't understand it. Shaking his head he thought it must be some secret plot the two of them had to drive him crazy; he would definitely, not for one second, put it past Sharpay.

"I would say bye," Noah said, now turning his attention to Troy. "But you'd probably try to take me down again. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye Stud!" Sharpay shouted after him.

"Bye Killer!" Noah retorted from the hallway.

"What was that about?" Troy asked after he heard the front door click shut.

"What was what about? You really need to make your questions clearer."

"Stud and Killer. I don't get it."

"You're not supposed to. Ever heard of an inside joke? Haven't you ever had secret nicknames with someone? That's all they are, just nicknames we have for each other."

_At my other schools I was the freaky math girl._

"No."

_Hey, just call me Freaky Callback Boy._

Troy began to frown slightly at his own memories. It seemed like so long ago he sat up in his secret spot with Gabriella and the biggest problem they faced was what other people thought of them. It seemed worlds away because it _was_.

He wasn't that kid anymore, that bright-eyed boy who didn't understand why his peers wouldn't let him do what he wanted. He had been just a boy who wanted to sing, and she was just a girl who did too. Gabriella wasn't even the same person as she was that day, and though it was to be expected that people change in two years, the funny part about all of it was they'd done more changing in the past weeks than the past months combined.

He didn't even flinch when Sharpay's voice shook him from his reverie. He was used to being broken from his ponderings as soon as he began to get too deep into his own thoughts.

"So, do you remember _anything_ from last night?" she asked. If he wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn she sounded a bit hopeful.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, after I left you and Noah, how much of the night do you remember?"

"Oh, well I remember that Chelsey girl coming to talk to me. Then I saw, um..."

"You saw what?"

He sighed, but figured there was no point in lying this late in the game. "I saw Gabriella and Charlie Duncan together."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Then I remember Craig--"

"Greg," she put in.

"Right, right, then _Greg_ asked me to hang out with him and some of his friends. After that things are kind of hazy."

"So you don't remember passing out, or anything_ directly_ before that?"

"Not really," he paused to scratch his head for a moment, then was suddenly hit with something, "Wait! You were there, weren't you? You came storming into the room and yelling at everyone."

"Yeah, I did. Do you remember what happened after that?"

"No. I guess that's when I passed out?"

Sharpay looked resigned, "Yeah Troy, that's when you passed out."

"Did I hit my head or something? It feels like I've got a bump right here," he said, massaging a circular area above his ear.

"Yeah, actually. I tried to catch you, but you fall faster than anyone I know."

"Um, thanks?"

"Don't mention it. Actually, I think you got a tiny concussion when you fell."

"Oh. _Wonderful_. How do you know?"

"Well, your pupils were different sizes, which isn't usually a good thing--"

"How did you see my pupils if I passed out?"

"When you first did it was only for about five minutes, or so. By the time Noah got upstairs you had woken up for a minute. You were just mumbling sort of incoherently and you didn't really know where you were. Then you dozed off for the entire car ride. And God, don't ask me how, but you managed to stay asleep even when we put you through the window."

"No wonder it feels like Ali did a few practice rounds with my entire body."

"Yeah, sorry about that. But it's your own fault for being such an idiot."

"Thank you, Surgeon General."

She smirked, "No problem, Dumbo."

Troy grumbled as he sunk back into the covers, wishing that he could just go to sleep. Sharpay Evans sitting just feet away was not doing anything to help his state, and he just wanted everything gone. He wanted the black sheet thrown back over the window and for the world to just stop for a few hours, until the pounding subsided perhaps.

But of course, things never worked the way he would've liked. It was him, though, who broke their millionth silence that week and tumbled out a question that had been unconsciously nagging at him for awhile. "When you invited me to go to Chelsey's with you, I never realized you guys were friends."

She shrugged, not even noticing that it caused her turquoise sweater to slip down her shoulder slightly, "I wouldn't say friends exactly. We're more just _friendly_, I guess. She's cool to hang out with parties--when she's not completely drunk off her ass--but I could never talk to her like I can talk to Noah, or Ryan, or even you."

"Oh," he was a bit surprised that she seemed to be so comfortable with him already when he was still on-guard around her. "What about that Brittany person? Didn't you say she was a sophomore, or something?"

"Yeah, _and_?"

"Nothing, it's just that seniors don't usually hang out with sophomores."

"Yeah well, I can start over fresh with them."

"What?" It seemed this girl loved to speak in riddles.

"None of them have ever seen Sharpay Evans the Ice Princess. They weren't there when I tried to con you and Gabriella out of the musical, or when I ordered people around like they owed me something. They just know me as regular Sharpay, which is actually pretty cool."

Troy nodded, he understood. It was what he had been wishing for since his injury. He wanted anonymity, and she had found it in a group of wide-eyed tenth graders. He envied her for a moment, because she was actually able to start over with someone, but he was stuck in his mold as the Playmaker, the Golden Boy, and the Leading Man for almost everyone. He'd give almost anything to be able to easily slip into the little world Sharpay had built for herself.

"Well, how are the auditions for the new musical going?"

"Not bad. Kelsi's working really hard, as always. I don't know, it barely even seems worth it anymore."

"What, acting or the musicals?"

"You do ask the tough questions, Troy," she said with a small laugh.

"It shouldn't be hard to answer though, should it?"

"No, you're right, it shouldn't. But sometimes I wonder why I'm trying anymore. East High's musicals are hardly doing anything to get me noticed outside of school. Like, the Wildcats are League Champs, they've been in papers and so scouts come to look at you guys, but the only coverage the musicals get is a column or two in the school newspaper."

"Have you done other auditions, for acting gigs or whatever you want to do?"

"Oh yeah tons. Everything from soup commercials to cheesy Disney Channel Movies. You name it, I've done it. But it's always the same: I'm too ugly, too pretty, too tall, too short, too blonde, too fat, too thin, too old, too young--too _everything_ that equals up to me not being good enough for a part."

"But you've got the rest of your life to work that out. Just because you haven't gotten an acting gig now, doesn't mean you never will."

"But I won't, Troy," she sighed deeply, then blew out a breath that caused her bangs to fly up in a flurry of blonde strands. She looked surprisingly serious as she tucked her legs beneath her on the recliner, "I made a promise to my parents. If I don't get a decent acting job by the time this year is over, then I have to suck it up and try a more practical career; be a lawyer or something."

Troy snorted, "I could never picture _you_ as a lawyer."

She laughed lightly, "I can't either. But whatever, there's always the custodial field, right?"

"Or you could be a lunch lady. I bet you could work the hairnets better than that old lady with the mole."

"Well _duh_, Sharpay Evans can rock anything. Put it on me, and suddenly it's a fashion trend."

He would have thought she was being self-centered and vain as usual if she hadn't playfully winked at the end.

"You know, I never asked, and I'm not sure anyone else did either, but what's the verdict on you being able to play basketball again?"

"You do ask the tough questions, Sharpay."

She laughed again, "Yeah, well."

"Honestly, the doctor doesn't even know. I couldn't get the surgery I needed to, so it's looking pretty bad."

"Oh, well that pretty much sucks. But hey, let's make a pact--from one kid with a dream deferred to another--we'll look out for each other. Deal?"

Troy looked at her, searching for any trace of mockery or jesting. There was none. "Alright, sure."

"Good."

"What's that quote about some kind of beginning to a friendship thing? That's from a musical, right?"

Sharpay laughed and rolled her eyes, "Yeah, it's from Casablanca: the Musical."

"That was sarcastic, wasn't it?"

"Surprised it takes you so long to recognize it when you've been sporting it for the past week."

"Oh, ha ha."

"Louis," Sharpay said with a grin, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Troy just shook his head, "Who's Louis?"

* * *

**a/n:** _Not one of my favorite chapters - it was basically a filler, but whatever .. __I'm going to give up on my distaste for all of the dialogue in this story, because apparently there's nothing I can do to stop it, so there's no point in lamenting the inevitable. Mmhmm, ferrr shurreeee. But just do me a favor and let me know if (and at what points) it starts to bug you! Oh yeah, and "Cheer up, Emo Kid" and "It's a brand new day" are lyrics from a song, not some big mystery thing like Troy thinks they are .. Sharpay & Noah just found it funny that they could both catch on so quickly.  
_

_My little hiatus, unfortunately enough, starts now. I may not even get to read any stories for a little while, let alone write them. I don't know when the next chapter will be out, but it definitely won't be that long of a wait. Plus, if I know myself, I'll sneak away & type up a few scenes here & there. Seeyaa then! _: )

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**RR to Flamingos Rock: **Oh, come on, _everything_ in a review is important info! Haha - I enjoy reading random things about my readers, it adds personality to the penname, I think. I'm the same way, with my apparent dislike for the "troyella," because in real life no one is that perfect and love is never simple. At least with troypays there's that whole element of "okay-I-need-to-actually-get-you-to-possibly-stop-hating-me-first" ya know? (Haha, wow. I'm really random in the morning.) I keep telling myself to really put in a good search and find a fabulously-written one that will change my mind about them, but I never feel like putting in the work. But yes, Troy angst is definitely the best kind .. there _is_ something satisfying about reading about the crumbling of perfection, isn't there? Hmm, or maybe we're just all a bunch of sadists ; ) Haha, thanks bunches for reviewing. Woohoo, and hey, you're my 90th reviewer! Cool stufffff. Hopefully I'll seeya around for later chapterss. Adios!

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chapter title/lyrics credit: take it how you want it - telling secrets to strangers - self against city


	10. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

_i've had enough of your games ..  
if you're not trembling, you better be__.  
- -_

It had been a long weekend. Actually, it had been a _really_ long weekend. Between losing consciousness at his first wild high school party and becoming friends with the Ice Princess, it surely was one to remember. Monday, needless to say, school had been a struggle. His head pounded, though not in the way it did when he was hung over. It simply pounded with a headache from over-thinking -- at least, that's what he thought. Tuesday hadn't been much better; when he thought about it he could barely remember a moment of any of his classes, that's how wholly boring it was. At long last it seemed, he was getting used to the silence that settled over him wherever he went.

He swiftly moved through the hallways -- inwardly rejoicing at the fact that he didn't hobble so much anymore (Weebles wobbled, Troys did not) -- and made it to his locker in record time. The sight that greeted him put an impossibly large smile on his face. He couldn't even hide the laughs that echoed through the hollow recesses of his throat.

He heard whispers all around him, fingers pointing in everywhichway, but it didn't bother him. This morning he knew the gossip wasn't about him. Snickers, stares, people shouting across the halls to show their friends -- it was such an amusing sight this particular Wednesday.

Troy ripped the neon-colored photocopied paper off of his locker and studied it, a smirk lighting his features. Charlie Duncan stormed his way down the hallway, and Troy could only clutch his stomach as a new wave of laughter ripped through him.

"What's the matter, _Chuck_? Upset someone found out your dirty little secret?" he found himself calling. For just a moment the entire school was back on his side again as they laughed and snicked along with his comments.

"Bolton," he growled dangerously, taking long strides to meet him. His face was pressed closely to Troy's, and if he wanted to he could have counted every frown-line on his face. "I know it was you."

"Me? Do this? Dude, in case you didn't know, I'm on crutches. Don't you think that would have been a little hard?"

Duncan simply tossed out a sarcastic grin, "If you don't back off, I'll make sure you _really_ need those crutches, don't worry about that."

**TWO DAYS EARLIER**

"This whole Chad Michael Murray-style brooding really doesn't suit you," Sharpay said with the wave of a hand. She was lying languidly in Troy's own bed, flipping through an old magazine he had been reading to displace his boredom hours before. Three times he had asked her (politely, nonetheless, as he was still trying to figure out how to be friends with someone like her) to possibly lounge on the recliner instead, but she just ignored him. His parents weren't strict _per se_, but even they would have a comment to make about a girl looking so comfortable in their teenaged son's bed.

Noah's eyebrows drew together, "You think CMM? Personally, I see him as a tortured Ben McKenzie."

"Now that you mention it, yeah. If you squint and turn your head a bit like this--"

Troy had watched as both Sharpay and Noah tilted their heads to the sides and studied him carefully.

"Thanks for the support, but I'm really not in the mood to hear you compare me to wannabe-actors at the moment."

"Does Chad do the biting off of the head better than Ben?" Sharpay remarked off-handedly, seeming to not have heard a word Troy said.

"I'm still torn."

"This is ridiculous!" he shouted angrily, "I'm out of here."

"Oh, come _on_," she said with a laugh, tugging him back by the hem of his shirt. "We're friends now, right? This is what friends do. Besides, this is _your_ house."

Troy blushed slightly, forgetting that little fact. Lately he had been wondering if rage was something a person was born with, or if it could be acquired over time. He didn't remember ever feeling as out of sorts as he had in the past couple of weeks, which just seemed to intensify the feeling.

"This lovefest has got me feeling very bubbly inside," Noah said, taking Sharpay's piercing glance off of him, "But the game starts in half an hour. I should get going."

"Wait, I'm not coming with you tonight?" Sharpay asked with a pout, flipping the magazine closed.

"I figured you'd want to keep our resident loner some company so he doesn't slit his wrists, or something."

"Oh. Well, Troy why don't you come too?"

Troy grimaced, but tried to hide it. There was nothing he wanted to do less than go watch his former teammates -- who he was convinced hated him -- run around and pretend to ignore him. In a worst case scenario they would lose, and his father would be completely broken up about it. In a best case scenario, however, they would win and Troy would be completely annoyed. It was a lose-lose situation either way he looked at it.

"Sorry, I promised to help my parents do something tonight."

"Oh _really_?" Sharpay asked with somewhat of a maniacal glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, afraid so."

"And what would that be, exactly?"

_Shit_. Troy had never -- not by a long shot -- ever been a good liar. He didn't do it often, not having the need, so whenever he did his palms began to sweat and his brain ceased to function. "Uh, to clean out the garage!"

Had his leg not been in a cast that might have been a good excuse. Sharpay saw right through it. "Enough, Troy. You're coming with us, even if we have to drag you there. Got it?"

His teeth grinded together in annoyance. Sharpay had been the one spewing all that crap about _friendship_, yet she was still flinging orders left and right. Some friend she was, alright. She seemed just as classy and loyal as Chad and Jason, and the rest of the guys.

Noah looked back and forth between Troy and Sharpay before letting out a low whistle. "I'd listen to her, Troy. We've already demonstrated our mad lifting skills, and I don't think you want a repeat while you're conscious."

Noah, somehow, always seemed to make situations less tense, and he was thankful for that. But still, he didn't want to see any of the faces of his former friends. He could just picture their eyes, _everyone's _eyes, following him as he entered the gym, watching him closely as if waiting for him to spontaneously combust or something. Charlie Duncan, for sure, would be the worst. He'd probably throw in some meant-to-be-scathing comment and wink as he sunk the ball for a three-pointer.

_Charlie Duncan._ And that got him thinking. If Charlie and Gabriella were going out, or hanging out, or whatever the fuck they were calling it, then surely she'd be at the game? He knew he shouldn't have, but somewhere inside of him he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to straighten things out, ask her once and for all what was going on between them. Were they still dating, or had she moved on? But more importantly, where the hell was she when he was lying in a hospital bed?

"Alright, let's go," he found himself volunteering. His heart clenched in anticipation and his palms were sweating, but this time it wasn't from lying.

xxx

"Ladies and gentleman, tonight is the night we've been waiting for. Tonight pits the East High Wildcats versus bitter rivals, the West High Knights. It's still early into the season, but both teams stand the same in rankings, so this game is purely for bragging rights only."

The view behind the announcer's table was somewhat surreal, as if he was looking through someone else's eyes. Troy watched Noah grip his mike, and his face animatedly light up as he spoke to the crowd. He had to admit, he felt bad about ignoring the boy's presence for... well, forever. He should be as much a part of the team as the actual players themselves. Sharpay, he also had to admit (albeit, very grudgingly), was right in her observation that he walked with his head up his ass. So oblivious to anything outside of the out-of-bounds lines he never bothered getting to know anyone else.

He had helped start the "Breaking Free" trend, yet he had done nothing to further it along. How many times had he passed a smart kid in the hallway and never given him a second glance? How many times had he seen someone from the band and laughed under his breath as Chad made a joke? It was all too many times to count, that was for damn sure.

"And it's Duncan, with a very impressive slam dunk to add two more points to the Wildcats' side, bringing the score 10 to 9."

Duncan, Duncan, fucking Duncan. Upon arriving at the game (to the predictable stares and whispers), he had found what he was looking for. Second row from the top, all the way to the left was Gabriella Montez in all her glory. At the moment she had been telling what seemed to be an extremely interesting story, or piece of gossip, as Taylor and Kelsi sported huge grins and jumped in their seats while they made unattractive squealing noises.

In one of his more cynical moments -- though, weren't they all? -- he imagined she must have been telling them how dreamy Charlie had been as he innocently kissed her goodnight on her doorstep. _Gag._

Troy looked over inconspicuously, noticing Gabriella's eyes were completely glued to the game unfolding on the floor. He had never seen her so interested in a sporting event before, as she had once confessed to him that she wasn't all too fond of them, but if her new boy toy was playing then it all made perfect sense.

"And at the end of the second quarter that brings us with the Knights in the lead with 27 points, and the Wildcats five down with 23."

Troy blinked confusedly, turning his head to the scoreboard to see if what Noah was saying was really true. It was already half-time? It was indeed, and he thought of himself as just a _teeny_ bit pathetic that he had been staring at Gabriella for so long.

"Yo, Troy," Sharpay snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Huh? What?"

"I said, do you wanna come with me to get a bottle of water?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

As always, the exit to the gym was crowded as spectators left their seats in the bleachers to stretch their legs, use the restrooms, and of course buy snacks. (What was a sports event without snacks?) Sharpay, being the ever-dramatic person she was, shrilly exclaimed "Wow, Troy, I can't believe these people are being so inconsiderate! You're on _crutches!_" Troy had to stifle a smirk as she winked at him once the crowd parted for them, guilt-stricken looks over their faces.

Making their way to the PTA-sponsored table, Troy threw down a few dollars and grabbed a Gatorade out of the ice-filled tub on the floor, waiting for Sharpay to hurry up and stop looking around like she was lost.

"A bottled water, please," she requested primly. It was quite laughable that she bothered putting on a show for the parents, as most already knew her back-story from their children, and it was only obvious the one serving her did as well.

The middle-aged woman shirked back slightly as she said "I'm sorry, we're all out of water."

"What do you _mean_ you're out of water? _How_ can you be out of water?" Sharpay exclaimed loudly, drawing all attention in the hallway to herself. As she walked in the opposite direction they came, she muttered a clear "Stupid idiots, can't even give me damn water" under her breath.

As he hobbled off behind her fast pace, he asked a confused "Where exactly are you going?"

"To the vending machine at the end of the hall. At least _that_ always has water." She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, "You can stay here if you want, and I'll be right back."

Troy nodded along and paused against a white wall. Though his leg had been cramping from the position it was in during the game and initially felt good to get some blood circulating again, there was no way he could keep up with her on his crutches.

He had just leant his head back and closed his eyes as the clicking of heels on the linoleum had faded away when he heard familiar voices drift through the empty part of the school; where he was being too far from the gym for anyone to usually venture.

"You have to leave? Already?" Troy followed the sound, moving to the far end of the wall he was against and peeked around the corner. In the perpendicular hallway, Charlie was standing before Gabriella, pouty lips and all.

"I promised my mom I'd be home for dinner. I'm sorry."

"I guess _somehow_ I'll get over it."

She smiled, "I'm sure you will."

"Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yep. You'll be at my house at five, right?"

"Count on it."

Troy's hands curled to fists at his side as he watched Duncan hug Gabriella. Over her shoulder, a light lit his eyes as he noticed Troy's head peeping. Before he pulled out of the hug, he tossed Troy a wink and walked in the opposite direction towards the locker room.

His blood was beyond boiling at this point. It was one thing to go after Gabriella knowing she was his ex, but doing it _just_ because of it? That was low. Even for fucking Charlie Duncan that was low.

She didn't even seem fazed at all. It was like she couldn't even remember that she had only had a boyfriend a couple weeks before. Maybe she _didn't_ care. Once Charlie dearest came around on his white horse, nothing about Troy the Screwup mattered anymore. And even though he'd hurt before, the pain settling deep within his chest was one of the worst feelings he'd ever had, including tearing his ACL.

"Oh, hey Troy. Did you want a water, too?"

"What?" his head snapped up quickly to see Sharpay carrying two Poland Spring bottles. "Oh, no. I was, uh, just coming to see if you got them alright."

"Okay. Do you want to head back in, or are you gonna meet us later?"

He blinked slowly, trying to decide. But seeing Charlie again was probably the last thing he wanted at the moment. So he stuttered a quick "I'll catch up."

She shrugged, and called a merry "Tootles!" over her shoulder, barely skipping a beat. His heart clenched again with a brand new realization. _No one_ wanted him. No one cared whether he stuck to himself or followed along.

He hadn't realized how long exactly he sat sulking in the hallway. He propped himself onto the radiators again, just as he had done days before, back leaning heavily onto the lockers. But, when he finally returned to the gym, it was just in time to see Charlie's very own parade. He could easily pinpoint Chad, Zeke, and Jason in the middle of the group, holding Duncan's legs and pumping their unoccupied arms victoriously. It was obvious they had won, and Troy couldn't fight the grimace that came to his face.

"So, I think I'm just about ready to bail," a voice said softly in his ear. "Are you?"

He turned around and faced Sharpay, who stood with her arms crossed and a metallic bag perched on her left shoulder.

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Okay, Chuckles, don't go getting all excited on me there. God forbid you show some emotion."

_If only she knew._

"Let's just go, alright? This was a bad idea from the beginning."

"Well ex_cuse_ me for trying to get you out of the house for once."

"Yeah," he mumbled grouchily. "Great job there. Every time you get me out of the house I end up having a _jolly _time."

"Oh save the sob story, Ben. Nobody forced you to come tonight, and no one shoved alcohol down your throat at Chelsey's party. That was all you, buddy, so let's not play the Blame Game."

Troy just grumbled again. It wasn't even worth putting up a fight anymore.

xxx

The next day he was determined for his stagnant optimistic side to peek out. His morning hadn't exactly been off to an enviable start, as the bright sun had woken him earlier than his alarm (with nearly forty-five minutes left to sleep), and the damn birds kept chirping their heads off, not allowing him to return to his nocturnal bliss. Then the hot water was on the fritz when he went to shower, as it often happened in only _his _bathroom (the plumbing in his parents' bathroom always worked just spiffily).

He had heard the phrase "a watched pot never boils" from his mother whenever he counted the minutes until he was able to go outside and play basketball with Chad or his dad, but it never felt as severe than waiting for the period bells to ring the entire morning. The extension of sympathy his teachers once gave him was coming to an end, and they didn't seem to at all enjoy the way his eyelids drooped during their lectures, or how when the were open they were always trained out the window or at the clock.

The fourth period bell rang at long last and, as usual, Troy was the first to leave the Criminal Law classroom, having packed his books nearly five minutes before the class would end. But really, what interest of his was it whether or not the "accused" was found guilty in a _mock_ trial? If his leg had been feeling a bit better (and there weren't halls full of his classmates) he was quite in the mood to prance around and do a little jig, _that's_ how happy he was to be freed for forty-five minutes.

And then, reality set back in and he once again realized he'd been far too optimistic by half. Charlie Duncan came marching down the hallway, waving and smiling to nearly everyone as he went. It had only taken days for the boy's popularity to equal that of Troy's own.

"Well, well, if it isn't my very own El Capitan. Tell me, how are things?"

"Just peachy, Duncan," Troy grumbled as he tried to pass him.

"Where are you off to in a hurry?"

"Someplace far from you."

"Ouch. You really know how to hit me where it hurts."

"Just get out of my way before I--"

"Before you what, Troy?"

He just blinked heavily, realizing there wasn't really all that much he _could_ do. So he said nothing, moving around him in order to get to his locker. His stomach growled expectedly and he was secretly pleased when Sharpay and Noah turned up by his side, asking if he wanted to join them at the diner off-campus.

"That little smarmy ass," Sharpay said with an eye roll at Troy's recount of everything involving Charlie Duncan.

"Guess he's not as fantastic as everyone thinks he is," Noah added, with a purposeful sideways glance in Sharpay's direction.

The conversation halted there, as they all jumped out of Sharpay's silver 911 Carrera Cabriolet. Sliding into a squishy booth, Troy took a look around the place, remembering the last time he was there. It was the night after Twinkle Towne's opening, and he and his friends had ventured out to join the drama club in their annual celebration of another play well done.

Across from him in the booth, Sharpay sucked her strawberry milkshake thoughtfully. "I think you should get him back," she said out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Charlie. I think you should get some revenge on him for being such a jackass."

Noah swung his arm over her shoulders with a proud look on his face, "Now there's the Sharpay we all know and love-to-hate."

She, in turn, swatted him off playfully and said "I'm serious. Don't you think he deserves it?"

"Yes," he said quickly, not even hesitating to think about it.

"Well then. I'll help you if you want," she offered importantly. With a wink she added, "We all know how good at scheming I am."

Troy mulled it over for a minute. Did he really want to get involved in some slew of prank wars? Everybody at school loved the new basketball player, so Duncan would undoubtedly know it was him. But still, he figured he'd give just about anything to see that look of horror on his face for just one second, and the consequences would be thoroughly worth it.

"Alright. What've you got in mind?"

But surprisingly, Sharpay said nothing. She looked to be deep in thought as she drummed her fingers against the table. Then again, maybe this lack of idea was a _sign._ His mother was always going on and on about signs and following your gut instincts.

"You have to exploit one of their fears."

Troy looked to Noah in shock. For awhile there he had almost forgot about his presence. He didn't look at either himself or Sharpay, instead focusing solely on the pepper shaker he was sliding back and forth across the table.

"_Okay_," Sharpay drawled, "but how exactly do we go about that?"

Meanwhile, Troy took a different approach. "_Their?_ I thought we were only targeting Duncan?"

"Oh, right," Noah briefly looked at him for a moment before losing interest and listlessly staring at the spice. "I can't keep track of what evil-doing I'm a part of these days."

"Hmm," Sharpay said, a manic glint lighting her eyes, "Noah may be on to something there."

"What do you mean?" Troy questioned, a slight fear erupting somewhere within him at the plots she was capable of formulating.

"Well, aren't you pissed at Chad and all your other friends? This could be the perfect opportunity to get them all back."

He mulled the fact over in his head a few times, trying to ignore Sharpay's expectant look across him. Right now he was nearing that invisible line, and he knew if the boundary was crossed, it was the proverbial point of no return.

_"You'll be at my house at five, right?"_

_"Count on it."_

Finally allowing himself to meet Sharpay's eyes, he felt a lazy smile tug at his lips as he took in the raised eyebrows and challenging smirk. It was nearly a second later when he clearly affirmed the broadening of their revenge plan.

"Homophobes," Noah broke the silence, again, suddenly.

Both Sharpay and Troy turned to him with bewildered expressions that begged unspoken questions.

He started to laugh then, picking up the pepper shaker and tossing it back and forth. "The entire basketball team is homophobic."

"Are not," Troy defended without even realizing it.

"Oh yeah?" Noah challenged. His eyes seemed to light in mirth, "At Chelsey's party when I first came up to you, you definitely thought I was hitting on you."

"I did not!" he replied, fully aware that the way he crossed his arms over his chest had made him seem like nothing but an petulant child.

"I _saw_ your face when I said I'd been waiting for you."

"Alright, alright, _fine._ Whatever, I'll admit that _maybe_ we're not used to that kind of behavior. But what does that have to do with anything."

Sharpay cut in, seeming to understand where Noah had been taking his idea. "We just need to set up Charlie in a -- shall we say -- _compromising_ position. Then we get it on film and put it out there for the whole school. They'll gay-bash him right off the team."

"Who're we gonna get to do it, though?" Troy questioned. He knew that one thing was for damn sure, he would _not_ be getting close to Duncan in _that_ way, even if it was guaranteed revenge.

Sharpay seemed to have sensed this, as she turned her pleading eyes over to Noah, blinking innocently.

"_No way_," Noah stuttered out, trying to shield his eyes from the puppy dog treatment, "do not look at me. I wouldn't do this even if you agreed to take me to Comic-Con for the next three years."

"What if I took you to TJ so we could bet on some cock fights? Or sail with you to Tahiti?"

His resolve seemed to weaken, but just a bit. "Sorry, Paypay. I'm all for this 'bringing down the man' thing, but I'm off the radar now, and would not like to be put back on it by everyone thinking I'm feening for some Charlie Duncan."

"Fair enough, fair enough. Alright, so we need someone who isn't afraid of what other people think. Someone who will look all those jocks in the eye and just laugh if they try to call him some stupid name. Someone who's so sure of themselves and their sexuality that this won't bother them. Someone like..."

xxx

"You three want _my _help? Oh, this oughta be good," a voice laughed, hands reaching up to pull off the sunglasses covering his eyes on the overcast day.

"Come on, Ryan. You're our only hope," Sharpay insisted.

"That's just pathetic."

"We know."

"And this is to help Troy?"

Troy nodded vehemently. The thought that his hope for revenge depended on Ryan Evans was thoroughly unsettling.

"Why exactly would I want to do that?" he questioned, raising his eyes with a smirk playing on his lips that looked nearly identical to the one Sharpay often had, "it's not like you've ever really done anything for me."

"I'll do whatever you want," Troy bargained quickly.

"Please Ryan," Sharpay begged, seeing that the conversation was going nowhere.

Noah then gave the blond a significant look that Troy wondered if he should have understood, "We're trying to get back at _Charlie_."

"Charlie? Charlie Duncan?" he asked, now interested. "Well that's a horse of a different color!"

"So you'll help?" Troy asked happily.

"Sure, why not. I could always use an opportunity to fine-tune my acting skills."

"Good!" Sharpay grinned, reaching down to her brother's level in his lounge chair to him. "All you have to do is hit on him."

"That's it? Oh, come _on._ Give me a challenge."

"So you don't mind everyone at school thinking you're gay?" Troy asked.

"Troy," Ryan said slowly, "everyone already thinks I am. It's not like it'll hurt _my_ reputation at all."

"What about Gemma?" Sharpay teased, "Will she mind?"

"I'm sure she'll find the whole thing hilarious."

"Who's Gemma?" Troy interrupted, not liking being left out of the loop.

"Oh, that's just his _girlfriend_. She's over there," Sharpay pointed across the vast expanse of green to a redhead yelling loudly at a balding man before pouring what appeared to be a smoothie on his head.

"She seems... nice."

Ryan smiled fondly, looking off dreamily, "She's a spitfire. Fits the redhead cliche perfectly. And not to mention she's wild in bed. You guys think you're the Wildcats? Pssh, you've never been in bed with her."

Troy stood there a bit uncomfortable as Noah let out a loud peal of laughter and Sharpay shrieked loudly, "Ryan! That is _so_ not something a sister wants to hear about her brother!"

Ryan didn't even pretend to look apologetic with a sarcastic "Oops" dripping from his mouth. Minutes later there was a loud clanking and when the four teens turned their heads, Gemma had thrown down the stack of plates she'd been taking towards the kitchens of Lava Springs Country Club. Ryan then explained that his girlfriend hated her job there, and only kept it to piss off her rich, aristocratic parents who had set her up so she'd never have to work a day in her life. Naturally, it horrified them to think that their privileged daughter took a job serving their colleagues and clients.

After waiting for him to go explain why he'd be leaving, laughter then began to echo throughout the club. Her personality completely changed, Gemma doubled over with a hand to her heart and laughed as Ryan told her of Troy's revenge. He was back in a few minutes, lip gloss smears all over his face and neck, and Sharpay trying not to look vaguely ill.

It didn't take long to get back to the Evans' home, all of them piling into the living room and watching with eager eyes as Sharpay looked up _Duncan_ in the phonebook.

"Hi," she said with a vicious smile, "May I please speak with Charlie? This is Sharpay."

She then put the phone on speaker and brought a finger to her lips to indicate (particularly to Noah, who seemed to be struggling to hold back his laughter) silence.

"Sharpay?" a voice then cut the silence, disbelief spread all through it.

"Hey Charlie, what's up?"

He laughed a bit, "Not much. Is there a reason you're calling, or you just wanted to check up on your favorite basketball player?"

Troy tried his hardest not to gag.

Sharpay giggled, doing her role perfectly. "Oh, ha, ha. I just wanted to see if you were busy."

"And why's that?"

"Well, if you really want to know, I thought it might be fun if we hung out."

"You did?"

"You don't?"

"No, no, of course I do. I'll just have to cancel some plans I'd already made," his smile was evident in his tone. "When and where?"

"My house, A.S.A.P."

"I'll be there."

"Can't wait."

Sharpay then hung up, looking very proud of herself. Troy had to admit, she had every right to be, her performance was brilliant. His nerves raced, he couldn't believe he was really going through with this. It felt good to know he was about to do something so cruel to someone who deserved it.

"Well, he didn't put up much of a fight, did he?" Noah remarked casually.

Ryan just put sat with his ever-present smirk on his face, rubbing his hands together as the first phase of the plan was complete.

xxx

From his right shoulder-blade to his left foot, every inch of Troy's body was aching. He was twisted at odd angles, trying hard to not be seen and accommodate his hurt knee all at once. He glanced down at the clock on his cell phone, waiting for the signal to be tossed. Just a few more seconds...

"I'm really thirsty," Sharpay's voice came from inside her room, "do you want anything?"

"No thanks," Charlie replied airily. Troy nearly harrumphed in indignation; he didn't even offer to get it instead, some guest he was. Better yet, some _man_ he was. Gabriella sure did pick a good one, flashed bitterly through his head.

He then heard her light footsteps walk towards the door, and instead of hearing it shut, it was left open just the right amount of space to seem casual. In her absence, Duncan took to looking around the room curiously. He crossed over to the dresser, picking up knickknacks and turning them over for closer inspection. He picked up a framed picture of her, Noah, Ryan, and Gemma, and let out a scoff. Then, he did something that made Troy's stomach lurch.

Turning slightly, he headed closer and closer to the very closet Troy was perched in. Through the slits in the wood, he could see the dark sweatpants moving closer and closer. He quietly inhaled a gasp of air, trying to think of a clever cover story, as the heard a hand come into contact with the knob and certainly about to pull it open. Suddenly--

"Charlie? Hey, what are you doing here?"

Troy let out the breath he was holding, almost laughing at the jump the other room's occupant made as Ryan appeared at the door.

"Oh, Sharpay invited me over."

"Really? That's cool. You know, I don't think I've ever seen you outside of school before."

He was expecting some snide remark like "Yeah, such a shame," to leave Duncan's mouth, and was surprised when he agreed with an amicable "I know. We should set something up one day."

"Actually, now that you mention it, I'm trying to write a play myself and was wondering if you'd consider acting opposite me?"

"Oh, I'm no actor," he said quickly, leaning up against Sharpay's bureau with his arms crossed. Ryan, however, looked perfectly calm and collected, but there was a certain mirth in his grin.

"That's alright, I would ask Sharpay, but she's just so busy trying to work with Kelsi on the school's production. Oh, would you look at that!" Ryan exclaimed with what Troy knew was false surprise, "I just so happen to have what I've got so far in my pocket! We could do a little test run now, if you'd like. I'd really appreciate it. It will be nice to, you know, act opposite someone who isn't my sister."

Duncan fumbled for a moment, seeming to try and find a way to let him down, but Ryan had turned the puppy dog pout and earnest eyes on him and his resistance seemed to weaken. "Sure, I mean, Sharpay seems to be taking awhile to get a drink anyway."

"Great! Why don't you sit down," Ryan motioned towards Sharpay's four-post bed, "make yourself comfortable."

The two sat on the plush violet comforter, Ryan handing over a copy of his script -- which really only took about fifteen minutes to type up. Duncan scanned it, eyes flitting left to right, up and down, and vice-versa.

"Ryan," he said suddenly, _uncomfortably_. "This is a play about two gay guys."

Ryan just widened his eyes innocently, "And? Oh, sorry, does that make you uncomfortable? It doesn't, uh, _hit a little close to home_, does it?"

"No! I'm not gay or anything."

"Then what's the problem?"

Troy could see it from his place five feet away, there was a challenge on the blond's face and if there was one similarity between himself and Charlie Duncan, it was that both would never turn down a challenge.

"There's no problem."

Ryan toyed with the cobalt blue military hat on his head, then moved to clap his hands together, "Excellent! You can be Xavier and I'll be Phillipe."

"Okay, uh, um..." Troy snickered silently as pages went fluttering, obviously trying to find a scene that lacked certain touchy-feely aspects. Of course, there were no such scenes like that.

"Just start from the top."

"Oh, Phillipe--" he said rather woodenly.

"No, no, no!" Ryan reprimanded. "Look, it's just you and me in here. Nobody's going to think anything of it. Just get into character; pretend you're talking to a girl if you have to. I mean, if Troy Bolton can star in some measly musical, I think you can do this."

That seemed to weaken his resolve. Setting his face determinedly, Charlie looked Ryan dead in the eyes as he prepared to finish his line. Ryan flicked a finger inconspicuously against his leg, and Troy took it as his cue, pressing the red button on the camera.

"I know this is wrong, but it feels so right."

"It isn't right! Listen, I need you to stop following me around like this. My family's getting suspicious, people are starting to talk."

"So let them talk! I know how I feel about you, isn't that enough?"

"It can't be. This has to end."

"I don't want to lose you!"

"We can still be friends."

"But I don't want to be just your friend. I can't live with you so close to me, knowing I can't hold you. It will be torture."

"Then I guess this is goodbye. If you can't have part of me, you get none of me."

"Please, don't go," _Xavier_ said desperately. He was surprisingly convincing.

"Look, I know what you and all your other little boyfriends are up to when you think no one's looking. I'm ending it now."

Troy grinned stupidly, pressing the red button once more and replacing the camcorder with a digital camera. Ryan then lunged forward, pressing his lips quickly to Duncan's.

He then cracked the closet door open a bit, snapped a picture, and shut the doors again before the boy realized what had been happening.

Throwing Ryan away from him he angrily shouted "What the hell was that?"

"It's in the script," was the only solace offered.

"I think I should wait for Sharpay downstairs."

"No need," Sharpay then came into the conversation, leaning against the doorframe. "Ryan, dad just called me. He said he's on his way to pick us up to see Aunt Mildred right now."

"Fantastic," Ryan mumbled sourly. "I'll wait for you outside."

"Well," Duncan said after the door closed, "this has been fun. _Definitely _worth me cancelling plans over."

"Sorry you couldn't stay longer. It's just, Aunt Mildred gets these delusions sometimes, pictures her husband still alive, and starts wandering through the streets. She's a menace."

"I guess I'll see you in school then."

"If you're not flanked by cronies, then yeah, sure."

She winked at him before opening the door and letting him pass through. Perhaps if he had been a little more observant he would have noticed Sharpay's Sidekick sitting on her desk, straight in view, or the fact that the home phone next to it had never rung either. Or maybe he would have noticed that Mr. Evans had walked down the hall almost immediately after Sharpay had taken him into her room, whistling some old tune and shuffling through documents.

"Did you get your money shot?" she asked, throwing open the closet doors.

Troy smiled wide, "Oh yeah."

Walking down the stairs, Troy spotted Noah seated at the kitchen island with a static-filled monitor in front of him. Hearing their impending footsteps he turned and, upon seeing them, burst into hysterics.

"Where's Ryan?" he asked once he could breathe again, "I really should commend him on his performance."

"Did someone say my name?" Ryan said, coming out of the shadows and jumping over the last three steps, with what seemed like a permanent grin etched onto his face.

"Personally," Sharpay said, "I wouldn't trust those lips within a mile of me. I do hope you'll wash up before you go pick up Gemmy dearest."

"Already done. But, now that you've mentioned it, I really should get going. I'll see you guys tomorrow at school, for a _very_ interesting day."

And with a wink he was out the door.

"Yeah, and I'd love to hang out with you losers all night, but I've gotta go practice my lines otherwise Kelsi will be pissed tomorrow."

"Too bad Charlie left. He seems to be really good at that."

"Yes, it really is a shame. 'Night Noah, 'night Troy."

Then the two of them were the only ones left in the kitchen, Noah sitting in a high stool and Troy standing somewhat uncomfortably.

"You could come over for awhile if you want," Troy offered. "It's still pretty early."

"Thanks, but it'd be good to take some me-time... work on the novel. Tonight would make a good chapter."

Troy laughed, "Yeah, it would."

"I wouldn't pass up a ride home though."

xxx

Just as Charlie began walking away, the two TV screens -- which were usually reserved for the morning announcements and random messages throughout the day -- came to life and began playing a very familiar scene about two boys, named Phillipe and Xavier, sitting on a purple duvet cover. Laughter echoed through the hallway and dozens of fingers pointed at the boy running towards the gym.

"We do good work," Sharpay said in Troy's ear, suddenly behind him.

He turned towards her and smiled, "That we do."

* * *

_Brownie points to whoever can guess what movie inspired certain aspects of the revenge plan!_

_

* * *

_

chapter title/lyrics credit: a wolf in sheep's clothing - this providence


	11. For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic

_well, what's the problem? you've got a lot of nerve.  
- -_

**1de·fer:** put off, delay

A dream deferred: it made a little more sense now that he had a definition. It had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to search online for Sharpay's poem, deciding after over a week he'd like an explanation of what she'd chosen to represent herself. Of course, it helped that the only part of it Troy actually remembered had been the word "defer," which brought up about 16,000,000 results when Google'd.

_"What happens to a dream deferred?"_

It was a strange realization, the discovery that maybe Sharpay Evans was deeper than a kiddie pool. But hell, did he blame himself for thinking it in the first place? She was the little rich girl who lived on the other side of town in a house twice as big as his own, spent summers at the country club her parents owned, and bragged of Spring Break trips to foreign locations he could only dream of visiting -- and yet, in a way, they were both in the same damn boat (quite small and dinky, he was sure, compared to her family's yacht).

And well, screw her for actually making him lay awake on a perfectly good Wednesday night, thinking of nothing but her stupid poem and why it seemed to haunt him.

_"What happens to a dream deferred?"_

Dammit, he didn't _know._ He wished he did, of course, as the thin silver hands of his bedside clock ticked closer and closer to the early morning hours, but the truth was he was as lost as the poem's writer. Well, if the author had been lost, that is. He wasn't really sure who this Langston Hughes character was, but he had a feeling something deep like that _had_ to have come from the heart.

So, when the alarm clock blared annoyingly at six a.m., his eyes were bloodshot and wide open, his blue sheets tangled around his legs. With the kind of crystal-clear, delirious clarity that can only come from getting very little sleep, he was able to register his room was a right mess. An emerald green towel hung across the top of the leather recliner, and one a faded yellow covered the entire surface of his desk, masking notebooks and No. 2 pencils. Yesterday's Levi's jeans and Tuesday's A&F Athletics gray sweatshirt were on the outskirts of a puddle of clothing in the center of the room. _When _was the last time he'd cleaned?

He watched the floor with extra caution as he made his way towards the bathroom to shower, careful not to get one of his crutches stuck on a stray item. Stripping and showering at an odd angle to protect his cast, Troy let the scalding water consume him. The pounding echo of the droplets magnified by the bathroom's acoustics was a welcome distraction, halting too many rogue thoughts from running wild; the silent waves of steam swirling around the confined area, covering the mirror and glass doors in a shallow fog, was more soothing than the lull of late-night crickets. Even with his recent handicap, he still found no comfort in lying around all day, but discovered it instead in his routine showers. But running out of time -- too soon than he would have liked -- Troy made sure to actually hang his towel up to dry once he was done with it, and put his red and black checkered pajama pants into the laundry bin, because he couldn't even remember the last time those had been changed. (With the thought, he felt like taking another shower.)

Sports and dancing, though so seemingly different, had worked together for one cause it seemed: giving him coordination. But even with the skills acquired over years of practice, Troy still felt a bit odd as he bounced down the stairs on his left foot. He was getting better at handling the stairs, that was for sure, but for a born rightie, his left side had been a bit neglected in the past. As he teetered slightly upon reaching the floor, feeling the strain shooting through the back of his calf, he felt a vain worry that after all was said and done, he'd be disproportionately toned. He could just picture Sharpay laughing at him because his left calf was more muscular than his right; could there be anything odder?

"Morning, Troy," his father greeted formally. He was, as per usual, propped against the counter with a mug of coffee and the sports page open.

"Morning, Dad," he replied tiredly. The kitchen was oddly quiet, and he looked around for a sizzling pan of bacon or a griddle forming pancakes.

Noticing his son's perplexed gaze, Jack continued, "Your mom had to run out early. Jessie called about some mid-life crisis 'woman' thing, so she didn't have time to make breakfast. She did leave you something for lunch, though."

Troy nodded in understanding and caught the brown bag that his father tossed to him; when _wasn't_ there a time when Jessie was having a mental breakdown? She and his mother had been friends since college, and ever since he was old enough to remember, she'd called up at least once a week with some horror story about bad cuticles, the suspicion her husband was cheating on her, the suspicion her son was having a fling with the Dutch maid, or the need for black pumps, like shoes would magically make everything better. He simply shook his head, wondering what the situation was this time, and grabbed a package of strawberry Pop-Tarts from the pantry.

"Oh, son, Dave -- Principal Matsui, I mean -- needs to see you when school starts," he threw out casually, shaking out the creases in his newspaper like being summoned to the principal's office was nothing to be worried about.

"Uh, what for?"

"He says he just wants to check in, see how you're doing and all that."

"Oh, right." He let out a breath of air as he tore the foil package open, thankful that it seemed Charlie Duncan hadn't leaked that it had been him plastering the pictures of him and Ryan everywhere.

He was being ushered out moments later, his father throwing him the keys to start the car while he quickly washed his mug and folded up the paper. But, thankfully, the ride was full of less tension than it had been in preceding days; he hadn't blown up at his father since the whole dinner incident, and things were relatively calm. Oldies came whispering through the radio, and if this had been B.I. (before-incident) they would have been blaring as his father loudly, embarrassingly, sang along with them. But this was A.I. (after-injury), and neither of them were particularly playful towards each other anymore.

Dropped off up front while his father went to park in the faculty lot, as was their new schedule, Troy wondered if he should go for that whole new 'optimism' thing he'd been planning for awhile. But really, he'd found people who actually turned out to be good friends, got some form of revenge on the asshole who took his team and his (possibly ex-) girlfriend, so why not? As they said (whoever _they _were, he wasn't really sure), 'there's no time like the present.'

"Hey, Charlie." Troy groaned as he moved through the main hallway, not even having been in school for ten minutes before witnessing some girl throw herself at the basketball player. And what ever happened to girls and self-respect?

"Hayley, hi," he flirted back.

As much as he hated to see the jerk's face, he was actually a little curious.

"Are you available on Saturday night?"

"Well, I just might be. Are you asking?"

"Yeah. My brother's friend, Toby, thinks you're really cute, but he's too shy to say anything."

"Woah, woah, woah... _he_?"

"Yeah?" she questioned, the word sounding more like a 'duh!' than anything.

"Look, I know it looks really weird, but I never--"

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Ryan! He _just _broke up with you, I forgot. I'm so insensitive! Take all the time you need to get over it. If you're ever interested in that date with Toby, let me know though."

Suddenly the day was even brighter, cartoon birds singing merry songs over his shoulders as Hayley Jiminez scurried down the halls.

"Now, now, Chuck," Troy admonished, making his way towards him, "why'd you say no? Toby seems like _just_ your type."

Then, predictably, Duncan was standing inches away, glaring with intensity that could give Sharpay a run for her money. Even though he knew he was clearly in a vulnerable position, he couldn't help but say, "You're getting a little close there, Chuck. Sorry, but I don't swing your way."

"That's it, Bolton. You're dead!"

He kept his eyes passive, stature unmoving, even though on the inside he was nearly shaking with the anticipation of pain. Fuck, he could barely stand upright on his own, how was he supposed to defend himself now?

"Charlie?" a voice boomed, causing everyone left in the hallways to watch with interest. "What, are you stalking me again? I thought we went over this, me and you are _over._ Now stop harassing my friends!"

Laughter erupted like wildfire, and Troy had never thought he would be so indebted to Ryan Evans. Random comments split through the herd, "Burn!" from the freshman with the glasses and competing with the loud "Owned!" from an elated-looking junior. Nothing was quite as dramatic as Sharpay's friend -- Brittany, was it? -- trying to get people to join in on her chants of "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Okay, asswipe, I don't know what the hell I did to you, besides actually being nice to your gay ass, but I never went out with you. Can you _please_ quit the shit and tell everyone around here the truth?"

"Oh yeah," Troy snorted and looked at Ryan, "with a heartfelt apology like that, how could you not?"

"You want people to know the truth?" the blond asked, quieter than he had before. Duncan nodded, and Ryan turned to face the crowd, "The truth is, in the end, I was just too much _man _for him. He preferred getting blow jobs in the locker room from the Wildcats and was always pissed off because I wouldn't do that."

More laughter sprang up, nearly disguising the ringing of the first period warning bell.

Trying to save face, Duncan stumbled out "Stop lying, you fucking pansy."

Ryan simply grinned a Cheshire cat smile while rolling his eyes, "How very original. It really is the same old story: boy is insecure with liking boy, so he starts throwing homophobic insults." Suddenly he was directly in front of him, "Tell me Charlie, how does it feel to know there isn't one unique bone in your body?"

Duncan's books were on the ground, the impact sending looseleaf paper flying out of binders, and an echoing crash through the halls. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, fury narrowing his eyes into nearly black slits. Troy really believed in that moment that Charlie Duncan was dangerous; he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared.

"Mr. Duncan, Mr. Evans, do we have a problem here?" Both boys' heads flashed quickly towards the slow strides of their principal.

"Actually--" Duncan began, only to be cutoff by Ryan's proclamation of "Yes, sir. It's to do with what I talked to you about earlier."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Matsui said, eyes scanning the halls. "Well, everyone get to class. You've only got thirty seconds now before you're late."

Troy heaved a sigh, disappointed there was no throw-down between the jock and the show boy. Honestly, he was completely intrigued as to who would win between the two; the outcome would probably be surprising, that was for sure. He gripped his crutches, staying to the right side of the crowded passageways on his way to first period Criminal Law.

A hand clapped his shoulder then, strong and firm, and for a moment he thought it was his father. Turning his head, he realized it was actually the principal himself. He nearly groaned as he remembered the little meeting he had to partake in.

"Hello, Troy," the man greeted. "Is right now an okay time for you to meet me in my office?"

"Oh, sure," he mumbled. "Mr. Donnelly shouldn't have a problem with that."

Troy stood, hands clutching his crutches tightly as he scrutinized Principal Matsui's face. He couldn't know, there was no possible way. He, Sharpay, Noah, and Ryan had covered their tracks flawlessly. He couldn't know, he couldn't know, he couldn't know... but really, could he?

"Great, great," he said, hand still in place and a smile crossing his face. "I'm on hall duty until the start of the period, so why don't you go along and I'll meet you there. Just tell Cheryl I sent you."

Scrunching his eyebrows, Troy consented and felt vaguely relieved as the hand was lifted and the principal carried on down the hallway.

The office was exactly as he remembered it. In fact, it was almost as if it had been mere moments since the last time he sat in the same plush seat instead of years. Last time, though, had been a completely different situation. Last time he was receiving the pros and cons of joining the Varsity basketball team as a reserve in only eighth grade, and now he was probably being accused of being a felon.

He hoped his permanent record wouldn't suffer too much from the almighty red pen.

"So, how are things going?" the principal's voice shouted minutes later, making the most awkward entrance Troy had ever seen.

"Um, they're going well, sir," he stumbled nervously. The collar of his blue tee felt like it was strangling him, and he pulled at it uncomfortably as he fidgeted in his seat.

Principal Matsui smiled, shuffling papers around on his desk and looking a smidge nervous as well. "Good, good. I know this must be a tough time for you, not being able to play basketball your senior year. I'm just checking in, making sure things are moving along smoothly."

"They're going as smooth as can be, given the situation."

"I'm sure," he said distractedly, shoving some books into a desk drawer and not meeting his eyes. "I noticed you haven't been chilling much with Chad or the rest of the team lately."

Troy gritted his teeth together, trying to ignore the wannabe-hipster lingo on top of the loaded question. 'Checking in', his ass.

"We've just been taking some time apart because of our, ah, difference in interests. You know, they have the season to worry about so I'm staying out of the way."

"I see. So who are their replacements?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _replacements,"_ he answered carefully. "But I've been getting to know Sharpay Evans and Noah Davies, sir."

"Noah Davies?" he questioned spacily, "I don't think I know him. Does he go to this school?"

"Um, yeah, he's a senior too," Troy bit back; suddenly he felt a protectiveness wash over him, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Hmm, how interesting. Well, what do you think about Charlie Duncan joining the Wildcats? Of course, no addition could bring what you can to the table, but he seems to be fitting in well."

_Smooth._ "I, uh, think he's fitting in fine."

The aura of the room darkened considerably. Troy straightened in his seat, the sudden seriousness washing over him as the principal carefully leveled his gaze. "Look, Troy, I've known you since your father started working here twelve years ago. I know you're a good kid, but when something's brought to my attention it's my job to act on it. But, like I said, I've watched you grow up and I know you well enough to know you've got a good head on your shoulders so I'll only ask you once. If you tell me you had no part in it, I'll believe you."

"What is it, sir?" he asked nervously. He begged that it wasn't about what he thought it was.

"Did you have anything to do with the posters and video about Charlie Duncan and Ryan Evans?" As Troy opened his mouth to speak, the principal continued, "Just think before you answer. This is a serious offense, but if you did partake, your punishment would not be very severe, as you are a first time offender. All I want is your honest answer."

"Honestly, Mr. Matsui," he paused a beat, gulping in a way that he hoped was inconspicuous, "I have no idea what happened with that whole thing. Me and Charlie have never really seen eye-to-eye, sure, but I just try to stay away from him. I've got too much to lose by letting emotions get in my way."

The principal sat very still, peering at Troy for only a moment more, before smiling. "Good, I had a feeling I was wasting my time asking, but I had to put this nasty rumor to rest. All right, Troy, have a good rest of the day. Cheryl will give you a pass on your way out."

"Bye, sir," he formally parted, allowing a deep breath to escape as he turned for the door.

"Oh wait, Troy, there's actually one more thing."

His hand froze in midair as he reached for the door, taking a breath before turning around. "Sure."

"What do you know about them?" he asked.

"Ryan and D- _Charlie_?"

"Yes."

Remembering Ryan's strange words earlier, he attempted a cover-up. "I know things are strained between them." Then he got a stroke of brilliance, and his lies were tumbling out easier, "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Charlie was behind all of this as a way to get back at Ryan. There's a lot of weird stuff going on inside that guy's head."

"Hmm, interesting point. Thank you, Troy."

"No problem," he replied, this time quickly opening the door and walking through before he could be stopped again. He could barely believe he'd gotten off scot-free, and a smirk was crossing his lips as the feeling of floating on air returned to him.

The halls didn't seem quite as oppressive anymore, as he slowly moved through them. First period only had a few minutes left, so there wouldn't be any sense in showing up so late. Besides, it wasn't as if the elective gave much work; half the time they sat around talking about completely obscure things that had nothing to do with the curriculum, like how bad the artificial sweeteners in Laffy Taffy were.

Every other moment, it seemed, his feet were hovering just above the floor and he was flying. The janitorial staff had done a fair job of taking most of the florescent flyers off the walls, but there were still a good amount peeking up from glass-encased bulletin boards. They brought a fresh wave of hilarity over him each and every time he looked.

This had been the best revenge plan _ever_.

xxx

"Troy," Sharpay said, fighting a grin, "Is that a sacked lunch in your bag?"

He cringed slightly, pulling the brown paper from his Jansport. "Yeah, my mom packs me lunch once a month, right after we get the Martha Stewart magazine in the mail."

"Um, okay," she said leaning her elbows on the table, eyebrows scrunched deeply, "I'll just pretend like that makes sense."

"It always manages to convince her she's being a failure because she has a job and gives me money to_ buy_ lunch," he explained while beginning to rummage through the bag.

"Mmm," Sharpay said, pulling apart the plastic wrap and putting a piece of his peanut butter sandwich into her mouth. "Your mom should make you lunch more often. You got any pudding cups in there?"

Troy checked, "No, but there is a package of pretzels, some mini carrots and... gummy worms?"

"Ooh, I'll take those," Sharpay shouted, her arm darting into his bag fast as lightning.

"You want anything?" he asked Noah, who was looking a little whiter than usual.

"He definitely wants the rest of your sandwhich," Sharpay said with a malicious grin.

"Oh, do you?" Troy asked, offering it up.

"No, no," Noah said quickly, waving his hands in front of his face, "that's alright."

"No, really, it's okay. I'll just eat the pretzels."

"No!" the boy shouted uncharacteristically.

Sharpay's loud laughter cut him off.

It was Troy's turn to be confused as he asked an offended, "What?"

"Noah's a major arachibutyrophobiac."

"Arachaphooba-_huh?_" Troy questioned stupidly, mouth gaping and all.

"Arachibutyrophobia," Sharpay pronounced the insanely complicated word easily, "the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth."

"Oh," he replied simply. For some reason, that phobia seemed exactly like something Noah would have. "Alright then."

They ate in relative silence for awhile. It was a bit funny to him, that there were times the three of them didn't need to say anything to each other but things were rarely ever awkward. Back in the B.I. days, his friends were constantly talking, as if silence scared them. And just like that, the hair at the back of his neck stood on edge and he shivered. He could feel eyes on him, and with the slight tilt of his head and a sweep through his peripherals he noticed said "friends" gazing at him from a few tables over.

Even he could admit that it was probably a strange sight for them to see. This was the first time he'd been in the cafeteria since his return to school and, aside from the basketball game, the first time he was really being seen with the Drama Queen and her lesser-known, sports announcing, weird-phobia-having friend. He plastered a grin on his face and laughed extraordinarily loud at a witty retort Noah was throwing out to Sharpay. If they wanted to stare he'd let them stare, and give them a good fucking show at that.

"So, what are your plans after school?"

"Troy?"

"TROY!"

He broke out of his trance of thoughts as fingers snapped in front of his eyes, and blinked slowly. "Oh, sorry. What was that?"

Sharpay sighed frustratedly, "I asked you what you're doing after school."

"Oh!" he replied, throwing some pretzels in his mouth and munching thoughtfully. "I don't think anything. I'm stuck here until basketball practice ends, unless one of you wants to give me a ride."

"I envy the both of you," Noah mumbled sourly. With one cheek resting heavily in the palm of his hand and spacey eyes, it was the most somber Troy had ever seen him.

"Get over it. She'll be gone before you know it," Sharpay consoled in her own strange way, patting her friend on the shoulder.

Troy just scrunched his eyebrows. Really, every conversation with them he felt like he had walked away and come back. It was like they spoke without talking most of the time. "Who?" he asked.

"The Nana," Sharpay answered knowingly, focusing on stretching a red and clear gummy worm until it snapped in half.

"Whose nana?"

Noah raised his unoccupied hand, "Mine. She's got everyone in my house freaking out."

"So then you're busy after school?" Troy questioned with a squint.

"Unfortunately, yes," he responded as Sharpay smirked, "Don't sound so disappointed to be alone with me."

Well, she wasn't quite so far off, Troy thought to himself. It wasn't really as if she was high on his 'People Who DON'T Scare Me Enough To Be Alone With Them' list. The strange glint in her eyes did nothing to suppress his not wholly unwarranted fears, instead escalating them to a place where he could think of nothing but dark forests and no one to hear his screams.

The bell rang soon after, and she grinned wickedly as she stuck him with the empty packaging of the devoured gummy worms and leftover scraps of the peanut butter sandwhich, sauntering past him with "Meet me in the parking lot after school. And _don't _be late!"

He wasn't entirely sure where she was off to in such a hurry, being that they had the dragon lady _together_, but he ignored it for the moment and instead managed to crutch his way towards the garbage and not be stampeded. The cafeteria doors were just as crowded as the ones to the gym had been over the weekend, dozens of students packed tightly together and moving just a millimeter a second. None of them seemed in such a rush as it neared closer to the warning bell, and he wasn't worried, the pink pass was still in his pocket for such situations as this.

Of course, Mrs. Congeniality gave him trouble about it when he showed up an entire _minute_ after the bell rang -- it wasn't his fault the cafeteria and her room were on opposite sides of the school. Eventually, she seemed to grow tired of his slouched stance and blank eyes because she cut her ineffective tormenting short. Then again, that also could have been attributed to the rather large spitball that came flying from somewhere among the tidy rows of desks to stick to her forehead comically.

Settling into his chair at last with a slight grin, he noticed Sharpay's seat was empty. The rolling of eyes followed as he realized she had probably been in such a rush before so she could _cut._ He didn't doubt for a second that she blew off the period to get her nails done, or something equally as superficial and trivial.

However, come three o'clock the illusive (and drool-worthy, he had to admit) silver Boxster S was stationed at the top of the parking lot. Not noticing him, or anyone within a twenty mile radius, she was belting loudly along to a song that sounded suspiciously like the ear-curling sounds of Paris Hilton as she fluffed her bangs in the rearview mirror.

"TROY! TROY!"

He stopped his movements, right hand on the door handle, and looked up to see his father running down the path from the front of the school.

"Troy," he breathed deeply, clutching inconspicuously at his sides with labored breaths. "I completely forgot. Your checkup is today... in half an hour, actually. Is there anyway your _friend,_" he stressed the word, looking baffled as Sharpay waved to him genially, "can drive you? I would have postponed practice, but without your mother home to remind me it slipped my mind."

"Breathe, dad," Troy bit out. "I'm sure it's fine, we didn't have any concrete plans or anything anyways."

"Oh, good," he looked relieved. "Thank her for me, will you? I'll see you at home."

Troy saluted sarcastically to his father's back and slid into the front seat, moving a bit awkwardly as he tried to fit the crutches comfortably in the two-seater.

"So, detour to the hospital?" Sharpay asked as she, thankfully, turned the music down to a low hum.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"No biggie," she shrugged. "Like you said, nothing was written in stone. It actually works out for you, seeing as I was going to drag you to the mall with me."

And on that final note he let out a small shriek as she floored it out of the parking lot. With fumbling hands he clicked the seatbelt into place and chanted in his head that he _would_ make it there alive, if not in one piece.

xxx

Hospital visits made him feel like he was some kind of science experiment. All of the poking and probing and "hmm"-ing was grating on his nerves; and if that fucking nurse tried to test his reflexes one more time he _would_ kick her and make it look like an accident. He envied Sharpay, sitting back in the waiting room reading an issue of _O _Magazine that promised delicious dieting recipes.

"Dr. Roberts will be with you in a moment," the nurse promised, scribbling something onto her clipboard.

Troy merely harrumphed in response, laying back on the bed exhaustedly. The overwhelming white reminded him of his first thoughts waking up after his injury, thinking he had died and been in heaven. Of course, he hadn't died, and he was sure the pearly white gates wouldn't be quite as blinding.

"Troy, it's good to see you again," Dr. Roberts greeted woodenly from the doorway.

He sighed, sitting back up a mumbled "Likewise," ever the picture of the respectful little boy.

The doctor shuffled into the room, flipping through pages of what he assumed was the nurse's clipboard. "Well, we've just gotten your most recent x-ray. Would you like to see it?"

"Only if it comes with good news." Hope bubbled deep within him at the prospect of playing basketball again soon, or at least getting the damned cast taken off.

His request was brushed off, and a bluish picture was being held toward a light. Dr. Roberts pointed out various tendons in his leg with a regal-looking ball point pen, using scientific jargon he couldn't nearly understand, even though he'd already suffered through his year of Biology as a freshman.

"Do you know what that means?" the doctor questioned at last; Troy shook his head.

"Do you _want_ to know?"

He took in a breath as he looked straight at the doctor, optimism coursing through his veins, inclining his head to show he was ready.

The doctor cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, son, but you won't be able to play basketball again."

And suddenly, his world was falling again. There was darkness, so much darkness, shadows all around him -- but where did it end? The room was spinning, he was weightless.

He tried spluttering, attempting unnecessary questions, and eventually gave up. A brief look of sympathy crossed the aged doctor's eyes, but it only lasted for only a moment before he was back to business.

"I think in about a week, if everything's healing properly, we'll be able to replace the hard cast with a smaller soft cast, more specifically fit for your knee and much less bulky."

That should have appeased him, if only a little, but it didn't. He felt nothing; numb, empty, drained, his eyes stared unwaveringly ahead. He wasn't even sure how he was hearing the doctor, and chalked it up to soaking it in through osmosis, even though the Biology-versed part of him knew it was impossible.

The perky nurse was back, babbling in his ear and leading him out of the room. Soundlessly he followed, taking the papers she gave him and promising to give them to his parents. Sharpay looked up as they entered the waiting room, closing a different magazine and checking the time on her phone. The nurse ushered him forwards as his movement had stopped, chirped her farewell and disappeared.

"How's my favorite invalid?"

Troy said nothing, instead moving around her and heading straight to the elevators.

"_O_kay, not in the mood to talk, I get it. So," she prattled along, completely oblivious to his beaten demeanor, "today was very fruitful. I got a great workout plan from Oprah's trainer, and tore out a recipe for low-fat Pappardelle."

"How absolutely _fantastic_ for you," he said sourly. He really couldn't give a fuck about Oprah or low-fat recipes of Pappardelle, whatever the fuck _that _was.

"Down boy," she laughed. "What's wrong with you? I thought we'd gotten past that whole 'biting people's heads off' thing?"

"I'm really not in the mood, Sharpay," he said as the elevator doors opened with a ding and made his way out. "So if you don't mind I'd really appreciate it if you'd shut the hell up for once."

The clicking of her heels stopped immediately, but he turned seconds later when he realized she wasn't walking besides him. Ten feet behind him, her mouth was dropped in an 'o', eyes bulged and yet still managing to look furious.

Suddenly she was striding quickly towards him, murder gleaming in her eyes.

"Okay, listen here, buddy," she spat angrily. Her index finger shot out and was poking him in the chest, "I don't know who the _fuck_ you think you are, but say something like that again and I'll leave your ass here in the parking lot to _walk_ home. If you're mad, then all the power to you, but do _not_ take it out on me, okay? Sitting in a plastic chair for two hours isn't exactly my ideal way to pass the time, so don't even think about giving _me_ an attitude."

He mumbled an apology, not really meaning it, but not wanting her to be pissed at him all the same. She seemed to see through his efforts and stomped ahead of him to her car, revving the engine loudly and blasting the radio.

The Porsche purred at sixty miles per hour the entire way home, even though the limit was somewhere between fifteen and thirty at various points of traffic. It seemed to alleviate her anger though, so he wasn't complaining, even if it meant his life was in danger. Besides, at this point he was much more scared of dying by Sharpay's hands than what would happen if they wrapped around a telephone pole.

An up-tempo alternative pop song began playing, and Sharpay released her tight grip on the wheel to turn it near blasting. She really did seem fond of loud music, no matter the genre. Stance completely changed, she bopped along and sang to the lyrics so played-out even Troy knew them. But still, he wasn't complaining. He rather valued his life, and didn't want her to sneak in through his bedroom window (as she was apparently quite good at) and choke him with gummy worms in the middle of the night.

The finals chords of the song played as she made an incredibly sharp turn onto the town's main street. Completely taking her eyes off the road, she turned to him with a different sort of light in her eyes.

"Have you ever been to L.A., Troy?"

She removed a wad of magazine paper out of her large designer purse, and Troy wondered if he should tell her that hospitals didn't usually appreciate people tearing so many pages out of their magazines, but he didn't dare. Towards the end she found what she was looking for, and let the rest of the print fall carelessly to the floor.

"Ever heard of Dr. William Anderson?"

"Is he on _Grey's Anatomy?_"

Sharpay let out a loud snort at that, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, he's not. He's a surgeon in California. An orthopedic surgeon, to be exact."

"What's an orthopedic surgeon?" he asked timidly.

"Didn't you pay attention in Bio _at all_ in ninth grade?" She pointed to a picture in the center of the type, where a young looking man smiled charmingly at the camera. "That's him."

"He looks a little young to be a surgeon, doesn't he?"

"Well, that's what the article's about. He's one of those genius types -- completed ten years of study in six after graduating from high school at sixteen and, get this, started up his own hospital in Los Angeles. He's supposed to be one of the best in the country."

"That's fine and dandy and all, but what does that have to do with me?"

"Say the word and you have a first-class ticket to LAX and a meeting with him."

His eyes widened, and he ogled her in curiosity, wondering if she was bluffing or not.

Suddenly he remembered her words: _"...let's make a pact--from one kid with a dream deferred to another--we'll look out for each other."_ Then, he realized she was completely serious.

* * *

**a/n: **_Poor Troy. Every time he tries to be optimistic, he's met with a reason why he shouldn't. Anyways, I apologize for the long wait for this. I don't know what's gotten into me lately, but I'm just losing all inspiration. As it is, I don't think this chapter was quite as good as I'd hoped, its structure and tone are a bit different than I'd intended, but it was being an awful pain to write. Feedback is simply spiffing, _really.

_And, who agrees that Noah's the type of kid in school who has absolutely every phobia/allergy you can think of? I was looking through a list of phobias, and that one made me crack up and I was like "NOAH!" Oh, and who knows who The Nana is? lmao, with all of my previous O.C. allusions, I just had to include her too _: )

_Before I close up this obnoxiously long author's note, I just wanted to let all you lovelies know what the movie from the last chapter was. Drumroll, please? It was... __**Cruel Intentions **__! Come on, with a name like that, you know it just screams "compromising positions abound!" Haha, what can I say, I'm a total sucker for Ryan Phillipe in his pre-cheating days. And the blond Joshua Jackson was posititvely scene-stealing. I recommend it to anyone who hasn't seen it, though you're warned it's not exactly a fluffy movie, or appropriate for all ages._

_Well, adios kids._

_

* * *

_chapter title/lyrics credit: for a pessimist, i'm pretty optimistic - paramore


	12. Rolling With the Punches

_i am a hypocrite; i am the concrete around our feet.  
and even when i push us in, i'll find a way to drag us out again.  
- -_

"It's been days, Troy," Sharpay stated as she grabbed his notebooks from him, stuffing them into his red Jansport. "Why won't you answer me?"

Another Monday had come and passed at East High, and as usual the students were all too eager to get out of the building at the sound of the final bell. A few milled around, mostly those involved in clubs whose meetings hadn't started yet--like the basketball team directly across the hall from him--or kids savoring their last moments of temporary freedom before serving detention.

Noah had even bailed on them early again, having to deal with his Nana's extended stay. ("Really, I just think she wants to see how long we can last without one of us having a heart attack.") And again Troy was a bit bitter at his doing so, because he knew that the moment he walked away Sharpay would spring on him for answers. Life was really just too predictable.

"Answer you about what?" he questioned in a faux show of dumbness. He knew she wouldn't buy it, she was much more skilled in the acting department than he was.

"Give it up," she rolled her eyes and slammed his locker shut.

Troy wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before getting a good grip on the crutches and heading with Sharpay to one of the exits. "Sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Dr. Anderson, Troy," she stated with exasperation. She held the door open for him as he passed, "Do you want to see him or not?"

But this was a dilemma he'd been trying to stall for as long as he could. He didn't know what to say about it; of course it would be nice to have some kind of prodigious doctor working on him and not worrying at all about the costs, but how could he possibly agree to his friend shelling out thousands of dollars for him?

He followed her to the student parking lot, trying to keep up with the fast paced clicking of her heels. Sharpay took turns between groaning, sighing, and mumbling under her breath; she seemed to know_exactly_what his pet peeves were. Today she had the Honda, and he could see from the slight curl of her lips that she wasn't exceptionally happy about it.

"Well?" She turned the key in the ignition, for once not reaching for the radio dial.

He tried to think about his options. Almost like a dream in an alternate universe, he could see his friends surrounding him as he asked their opinion. He knew what Jason would say: "Dude, it totally pays to have friends with connections. Use them." Chad, forever suspicious, would discourage him from accepting, claiming that the Ice Princess must have a hidden agenda beneath her glittering sleeves.

And maybe fake-Chad was right in a way. Because memories from a short time ago filled his mind: fine Italian shoes, his friends waiting on him, playing basketball with the Red Hawks. This all felt too much like a bribe. He had to admit it though, she didn't really seem like the bribing type anymore. Still, he knew that one day--maybe immediately after his surgery, maybe years after--she would want something in return, and he wasn't entirely sure that he would be willing to give whatever it was.

"Sharpay, thanks for the offer, it's completely amazing and all, but I really can't agree."

"And why not?"

He sighed, trying to think of an easy way to explain his motives. "Look, do you remember that summer at Lava Springs?"

"Can you be more specific? I've spent a lot of summers there," she threw out bitterly. He knew she was just stalling, the way her eyes narrowed showed him she clearly realized what he was talking about.

"The summer me and all the Wildcats got jobs."

"What about it?"

"We never really got to talk about things afterwards. I mean, you and your family did some amazing things for me, but it all came at a price that I couldn't pay back. I didn't like who I became that summer, and I'm not really interested in going back there."

She stared at him carefully, her face taking many expressions in those few moments. Her eyebrows raised and lowered, her nostrils flared, her lower lip jutted, and her eyes narrowed. "Troy, I don't expect you to owe me anything. If you don't know that about me by now, I don't think you know anything."

He immediately regretted his words after hearing the edge to her voice; he had clearly offended her. "I know, but this would just feel too much like that. And besides, I can't let you pay so much money for me without giving something--"

"There's only one thing I'd want from you in return," she cut him off.

"Oh," he squinted. Screw her, he knew there'd be conditions. "And what's that?"

"You would just have to promise me you'd get better and be able to wipe Charlie's ass on the basketball court," she stated casually, shrugging her shoulders and once again fixing her lip gloss in the rearview mirror while they sat at a red light.

Okay, so now maybe he felt like a hypocritical prick. Everything Sharpay had done for him in the past few weeks had been completely selfless, and yet he still managed to doubt her vague intentions. It was unfounded at this point in time, and he was probably _the_biggest dick in the world.

"Thanks Sharpay, I really do appreciate the offer, but still, no thanks."

She turned to fully face him now, looking a bit too serious for his tastes. "Are you seriously telling me you'd rather never play basketball again than let me pay for a stupid surgery? It's not like I don't have the money, I might as well do something useful with it for once."

"Sharpay, it's too--"

"Shut up," she said, placing a finger against his lips. "Do not tell me that it's too much. I bet you my _car_ cost more than fixing your leg would be. Besides, my dad would probably be thrilled at the prospect. When he found out about your ACL he felt totally bad because he knew what a good player you are. Just let me do this, Troy."

He wanted to ask why. Why was it so important to her that he agree? Why did there seem to be a quiet sort of desperation in her eyes as she nearly pleaded with him?

But he didn't.

Instead of speaking what was on his mind, he shrugged and mumbled "I'll think about it," before thanking her for the ride and exiting the vehicle. He was hopping up the front steps when her motor revved and the window rolled down so she could shout "Think hard!" before speeding off.

His father was already home when he walked in, pouring over a play book and scribbling notes into it. Not wanting to interrupt the look of concentration on his face, Troy tried to quietly walk past the living room and head upstairs.

"Troy?" No luck.

"Hey dad," he greeted the man on the couch.

His father stood up quickly, moving towards him with a smile. "So how was the appointment? Did the Doc say when we can expect our star player back in the game?"

"How about the fifth of Never?" Troy monotoned.

"The fifth of Never?" he repeated confused. "You mean..."

"Dad, I'm not going to be able to play basketball this season, or ever again for that matter."

The smile disappeared off of his face, and he was shaking his head. "This is unbelievable. One small accident, and they can't even doing anything? What the fuck do I pay my taxes for?"

Curse words coming from his father's mouth would have been amusing in any other situation, but they only added fuel to his already melodramatic fire. "If I had gotten the surgery I might have been able to heal right, but now it's impossible."

Troy toyed with the idea of telling his father of Sharpay's plan. Surely he'd like the prospect of his son being able to regain his full mobility and back on the court, but it didn't change the fact that he was a proud man who didn't like to accept things from anyone.

"Troy," he shook his head from side-to-side. "If I had known..."

The look of regret on such a usually happy face was too much. He hadn't meant his words to come out like a guilt trip, but they did, and he knew it was too late to take them back.

"Dad," he said, grasping at straws. "It's not your fault. I get that the surgery was too expensive and really, I'm kind of over the whole situation anyway."

"You're_over it_?" There was a lift to his voice that clearly questioned Troy's sanity.

"Yeah," he struggled to sound positive, "I am."

"I'm sure I could talk to Dave, try to get him to give me my Christmas bonus early or something. He'd understand."

"It's okay, don't worry about it."

"Troy, we can't just ignore this. There has to be someone out there willing to help."

"There is," he said without thinking. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them, knowing what was about to come next.

"Really? Who?"

"Uh, Sharpay actually. She's got herself convinced she's going to pay for me to see a specialist all the way in L.A. _and_ for the surgery too."

"That's ridiculous." Troy felt a smug sense of satisfaction run through him with his father's words. Of course he wouldn't accept the Evans' money, there was no way. "We'll pay for whatever part we can afford. I can't believe they're being so generous about this. I'll have to speak with Vance about the details but... wow."

His faint smile quickly descended into a frown, and he couldn't believe the turn of events. His father was so happy he was almost skipping through the halls to reach for the family address book on a shelf in the living room.

To be honest, he wasn't even entirely sure why he was so upset about the prospect of the Evans paying for him. Was he worried Sharpay had been bluffing when she said she didn't expect anything back from him? Was_he_ the proud one that didn't want to accept money from someone else?

Or maybe he was just the one worried about what would happen after all was said and done.

xxx

That night Troy's mother was back, sitting across from his father and positively beaming at the news being passed.

"And he really said he wants to do this?" she questioned while twirling her fork around strands of spaghetti.

His father nodded and spoke through a mouthful of his own pasta, "He said he'd be willing to pay the whole amount if we wanted, but he'll work out a payment plan with me."

"Oh, that's so fantastic! Troy, aren't you excited?"

Staring blankly at his untouched bowl, his ears barely heard the question directed at him.

"Troy?" his mother questioned with concern.

"Huh?" his head snapped up. "Oh, sorry. May I be excused?"

"What's wrong, Troy?" his father asked. "You've been acting strange since you got home from the hospital. Is everything all right?"

"Not really, no," Troy stated honestly. It really was amazing that even something like a surgery for _him_ didn't even warrant his approval. After all, it wasn't _their_ fucking legs that needed to be operated on, so why did it matter, right?

Feeling a not-so-uncommon burst of defiance swell inside of him, Troy excused himself and hid out in his room, even as his father demanded that he sit down so "we can talk about this!"

His bedroom, of course, was still a complete disaster, and for some reason that just pissed him off even more. He wanted to pace; no, more than that, he _needed_ to. His mind was thick and heavy, too many thoughts racing around and conflicting feelings bouncing off of each other. If he didn't work off this nervous energy, he thought he might just explode. Pacing wasn't an option though, not anymore -- maybe even not ever again.

Throwing his crutches angrily against the wall, the crash of metal soothed him. But he wanted more. The release was only temporary, he wanted to feel it again and again and again until it was more than just a rush, it was a high carrying him away from this mess he called a life. He threw a basketball, watching as it bounced back with double the force and sent most everything on his desk crashing to the floor. Pencils and pens, sharpeners and a tape dispenser, brightly colored Sharpies and a Glade candle his mother had bought him all landed everywhere. Picking the ball back up, he curled his lips into a malicious grin and threw it easily across the room. Loud cracks echoed through the space as fragments of his mirror fell into disarray, but still he wasn't pacified.

He saw his mother's laptop sitting innocently on top of the recliner, looking all too pristine and undamaged, and hopped across the room quickly to retrieve it. He lifted it above his head, ready to fling it and watch as it smashed into pieces of expensive little shiny parts just as broken as he felt sometimes. But the shards of cracked mirror barely hanging on to their frame caught his eye then, and he started for a moment, thinking someone else was in the room with him because that reflection certainly could not be his. Red bloodshot eyes were narrowed, rage and fury burning thickly through blue irises, and a malicious sneer was plastered on his lips, stretching them into something most unattractive and cruel.

Was this really him? He lowered the computer, watching intently as the reflection did the same, and his eyes widened. He looked like a monster.

More subdued, and utterly confused, he gently placed the machinery on top of his desk, clearing off a towel to be sure it sat perfectly flat. Within an hour and a half his room was entirely clean, everything in its rightful place and looking utterly disturbing in the way it seemed so perfect. Thoroughly defeated without even knowing why, Troy hobbled into the bathroom to take medication for the pain still throbbing through his leg falling into bed at 9:00 for the first time in six years. He fell asleep almost immediately as his head hit the pillow, the pills taking quick effect, making it easy to ignore the grumbling of his stomach as it berated him for walking out on dinner.

When he awoke to the persistent ringing of his alarm clock, Troy felt more well-rested than he had in a long time. For once he didn't attempt to steal a few extra winks by snuggling deep into the warm mass of blankets covering him, instead swinging his legs of the bed as he simultaneously turned off the alarm. With a completely clear head, Troy was able to admit that he did make a bit of a scene last night, perhaps just a tad unnecessarily, and embarrassment colored his cheeks a light red just thinking about it. Needless to say, he wasn't looking forward to an awkward breakfast with his parents, or even worse, another screaming match with his father. He was able to be angry at himself just long enough to realize the full gravity of the fact that in just moments he'd disturbed the relative peace the household had fallen into. Now, in respects to his family, he was back to square one.

The smell of french toast surrounded him as he stepped off the stairs, strong and delicious. His father sat at the table, ever present newspaper and coffee cup in front of him. "Good morning, Troy," he greeted amicably.

"Um, 'morning," was all he could stand to stutter out. Was he off the hook then?

"I hope you're in the mood for french toast, honey," his mother said from her place at the sink, washing the pans she used to make breakfast.

"Oh, yeah. French toast sounds good."

A large stack was placed in front of him, and Troy wondered when exactly his life had morphed into some strange 50s-type sitcom. Where was all the yelling? The demanding that he explain his harsh reaction last night?

With paranoid eyes darting between his mother and father, he finished breakfast just as the clock struck eight.

"Ready?" his father asked, lowering and folding the paper.

He mumbled a reply, still gauging his parents' faces and wondering what the hell was going on. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ he wanted to yell. But he didn't, of course, simply picked up his bookbag from where he'd left it last night and headed out the door. It was then he realized that if the bag had been lying in the hallway for over twelve hours, it meant he hadn't done any of the homework he'd been assigned, which didn't exactly make the day ahead look promising by any means.

Classes passed slowly, in a fashion similar to the way they had the day of his return. Troy's mind wandered, everything and anything hazing his mind and masking it with a confusion. Lying seemed to be something he was getting better at, though. Each of his teachers had cast him sympathetic nods of understanding as he embellished just a _teensy_ bit about how much pain he'd been in the day before and the entire night spent in a stark hospital room. He smiled at each varying "That's fine, Troy. Just bring it in tomorrow," only feeling a slight twinge of guilt at his deceptions. But hell, he figured his punishment would be doing two nights of homework in one, and that was just fine with him. The only problem, predictably, had come in English class. Ms. Goodwin had given him trouble, but when he bargained by saying he'd make his paper about the literary uses of iambic pentameter an extra page (single-spaced) and how it would keep him from doing anything fun or sports-related, she loosened at the idea.

Heading to his locker before study hall to pick up some textbooks to lighten the night's heavy load, an unwelcome sight greeted him. Chad was leaning casually against the locker next to his, and a sickening pounding of confrontation swelled inside of Troy, because he knew this couldn't end well. He shrugged off the feeling and, fully intent on ignoring his former friend, spun in the combination to pop open his locker.

Chad seemed to perk up upon noticing his arrival, and inclined his head to show that he was waiting for a moment to speak. Troy pointedly pretended he hadn't seen the action from the corner of his eye. Instead, he grabbed his history and math books and slammed the metal door shut.

"Troy," Chad said, seemingly bewildered.

He kept walking.

"Hey," he said, grabbing Troy's shoulder roughly in an attempt to stop him. "I'm trying to talk to you."

Certainly less smooth than he had hoped, Troy turned around. He knew his glare would have sent lesser men running, but it only made the light of determination in Chad's eyes burn brighter. "Don't touch me," he spat.

"What's your problem, man?"

"You're my problem,_ man_," Troy mimicked harshly. Chad's eyes widened, and he hoped that had done the trick as the warning bell was just ringing and they were beginning to attract a crowd.

No such luck, and by now that really shouldn't have surprised him. "Look, I just wanted to talk to you. What's with the attitude?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Who did he think he was, really? No contact for weeks, and now suddenly everything was supposed to be all sweet and peachy between them? Maybe that's the way things worked in Chad's own little world, but he was done with it.

"If you really have to ask, you're an even bigger dumbass than I ever thought."

His smirk was wide, only more self-satisfied with the gasps heard among those watching. Chad, on the other hand, looked like someone just kicked his dog... or cut off a precious lock of his hair.

"I don't understand you anymore, Troy, I really don't. You've been treating all your friends like shit ever since you got hurt, I'm pretty sure you're behind what's been going on with Charlie, and on top of that I hear you're hanging out with _Sharpay_ of all people. I mean, is that why you've changed? Has she turned you into some prissy dominion of hers or something?"

"Just shut up, Chad. You don't know anything."

And he didn't. Troy curled his fists tightly, the anger pulsing through him was stronger than he'd ever felt. He didn't know a damn thing about someone he considered his "best friend." He was such a joke. A fake, masquerading along as someone who knew exactly what was going on around them. A complete and utter joke didn't even describe it.

"I do know that something's up with you, and I want to find out what," Chad said, accentuating his statement with a fist slamming into a locker in frustration.

"Well," Troy scoffed, "Good luck with that."

He gripped his crutches, and made to turn around when Chad was suddenly directly in front of him.

"No way. You're _not_ getting away from me that easily."

Troy's eyes smoldered as they met Chad's. "Get out of my way," he nearly growled.

"No. Not until we talk," he said determinately.

"Move"

"No."

Troy grabbed hold of his right crutch with his left hand, as his other pushed roughly against Chad's chest. "I said, _move._"

He wasn't even sure who threw the first swing, but suddenly fists were flying and his crutches fell with two loud smacks against the floor. Troy's back ached with a pulsating throb as Chad shoved him against the row of lockers. He stumbled slightly, almost falling but luckily able to hop his way back to stability.

He knew he should stop this, a teacher or the principal (or worse yet, his _father_) was bound to be on their way to the scene of the loud chanting. But godfuckingdammit, he had never been so angry in his life -- not even when he found out that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were just some elaborate lie to make him eat his vegetables and go to bed on time. Every cell in his brain screamed out with rage, every muscle in his body spasming for just one solid contact.

And it was all happening too quickly. The maddening echo of a former life was ringing loudly in his ears, suppressing him, releasing him. His eyes were clouded over and he was swinging; it felt so blind to him, but he knew as he heard the sound of skin-on-skin and felt crimson blood spill through caramel flesh against his knuckles, that he was hitting more deftly than he ever thought possible. And through his clouded eyes was a mind thick with haze and resentment and anger, and he was beginning to scare himself because he wanted to hurt him so badly and still, a part of him thought it might even make him feel better to kill him -- bring him closer to death with each swing of his fists.

What was happening to him?

_Holy freaking hell_, his eyes widened with a sudden clarity; this was it for him. This was when he would lose it -- become nothing more than the dark shadow of a boy who used to so enjoy staring at the stars and dreaming. He would never be Troy Bolton again, instead probably wasting his time by going and getting high and drunk and slumming it with Greg before he was locked up for fratricide.

But no, he couldn't give up so easily. He couldn't turn his back on himself, because then, who would he have? He knew, someone who didn't have themselves didn't have anyone at all.

So with the eye-opening awe of realization, he pulled away, even as a yell of, "TROY! DANFORTH? What the _hell?_" rang through his ears. But looking inside oneself, is only for oneself to know after all, and by retracting his furious fists and staring wide-eyed at Sharpay's just-joining the crowd, he felt a rain of furious fists being loaded onto and into himself. He felt his lip split open, the pain traveling up into his spine as he landed awkwardly on his injured leg, and he couldn't even blame Chad for doing it.

A guttural scream that seemed savage to his own ears came from subconscious depths; he couldn't even feel the pain yet, with so much adrenaline coursing through him. The entirety of his face was scrunched in a wince, and as he opened his eyes Troy could see Chad's own widened in shock. The boy looked at his hands in disbelief, as if he couldn't really comprehend it was him who'd done that.

The pain was stronger now, twisting from a sharp prick to a burning sensation that consumed him whole like a spreading wildfire. Not for the first time in his life, Troy's eyes slipped shut and someone flipped the off-switch on his overactive mind.

xxx

The sound of people rushing around him was familiar. With his lids closed, Troy could hear his parents talking quietly just a few feet away, it seemed. Even without listening--and hearing "Chad," "fight," "leg," and "blacked out"--he knew what the caliber of conversation was. After all, after today's events how could it be anything less than the obvious?

"Did you know," his mother spoke, "that they weren't getting along? They've been friends for as long as I remember, I can't imagine why they'd fight now."

"I didn't," his father answered. "Chad hasn't been around much, but I thought it was just because of the injury Troy couldn't do as much stuff as the other guys."

Stupid fucking parents, he wanted to shout. They were so oblivious it was hard not to laugh at them. Instead of lying around and catching unimportant pieces of conversation, Troy gave a muffled groan to gain their attention and slowly opened his eyes.

"Troy, honey!" his mother shouted immediately. She fussed over him for a few minutes more, fluffing his pillows and making sure the blankets were tucked snugly around him. Also familiar were his surroundings: the overwhelming white room could only belong to the local hospital. Holy fuck, was it really that bad?

"I'll go get the nurse," his father offered, and disappeared from the room as his mother asked how he felt. He gave a noncommittal grunt, too tired to think of anything sarcastic to say.

"Troy," his mother said carefully. "I don't want to pry, but I can't help but wonder why you and Chad--"

"Hello again, Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, Troy," Dr. Roberts said as he glided through the room. Never did he think he'd be so glad to see a doctor, but really this one had impeccable timing.

Charts and graphs and x-rays then littered the room, and if he never saw one again he knew it'd be too soon. Through his peripherals he could see his parents sitting on edge, listening to Dr. Roberts as if their lives depended on it. Troy was hearing, sure, but as his mind fuzzed lightly with exhaustion, he definitely wasn't listening.

Suddenly though, his eyes blinked with a new clarity as his ears perked up. "...retorn the ligament. It seems, unfortunately, that we are back to where we started. I don't know what I can offer in the ways of rehabilitation, but it's inevitable that there will be permanent damage even after we put a new cast on." It was one hundred thousand times worse than hearing he wouldn't be able to play basketball. Because hell, he'd heard plenty of stories about those miracle people who worked exceptionally hard and regained full mobility after an injury, and he was so very determined to get there. But permanent injury the doctor wasn't even sure he could fix? Well, that was something fucking different all together.

"I'll leave you three alone now, and come back to check up on Troy later. If you have any questions, feel free to page me," Dr. Roberts said solemnly before making a quick exit. Troy didn't blame him, after his own behavior and the way his dad blew up at his first visit, he'd have high-tailed it out of there, too.

The room, though, was tensely quiet with the exit of the older man. His parents, it seemed, were either stunned or silently seething.

"I think," he broke the silence, "I think I'm going to give Sharpay a call."

xxx

By the time visiting hours officially ended, Troy's parents were long gone. The entirety of the hospital was rather quiet and subdued, the only sounds heard were the squeaking of wheeled carts or the soft footsteps of sensible sneakers. Propped on thoroughly-starched pillows, the glow of the muted TV bathed him with the room's only light, and his left leg twitched with inactivity under the stiff sheets. He was getting restless, and worse yet, a nurse wasn't supposed to come give him more pain medication for at least another half hour, which meant there wouldn't be any sleeping until then.

Watching the overly-coiffed anchors on the local news, he began to think he'd die of boredom before the night was over. Just then, the door squeaked open, and the room was filled with footsteps that sounded nothing like the nurses on night duty.

"Troy?" a voice whispered in the dimness.

His eyes wide, he asked incredulously, "Sharpay? Is that you?"

"Oh good. I was afraid I'd gotten the wrong room," she replied, moving further into the room and perching on the side-handlebars of his bed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly. "Visiting hours ended a long time ago."

"Yeah well, I was busy up until just now. Screw these hospital people, I'm Sharpay Evans and I do what I want," she stated in such a simple manner it was as if she'd simply decided she was going to wash her hair.

"Oh. Well. Okay then," he breathed out, half-amused and half-scared.

She stood up, crossing the room to the window with the shades pulled shut. Opening them, she stared out into the night and made a tsk-ing sound of disapproval. He supposed whenever she was in a hospital, she got a room with a view. Silently she stood for at least two more minutes, and Troy could do nothing but sit uncomfortably and wonder what she was doing there. Dressed plainly in sweats and a cropped denim jacket, the bright pink of her pants made her extremely visible even in such an absence of light, and he hoped that the nurses walking by wouldn't notice.

"So, um, what is it that you're doing here again?" he asked.

She turned from her place across the room and a commercial on the television illuminated the room just brightly enough so he could see her eyebrow clearly raise and her hands come to rest on her hips. "Just visiting. Isn't that what friends are for?"

The question hit him hard. He wasn't sure if she meant her answer to have such a double meaning, but it did, and in that moment he supposed he was thankful to have a friend like Sharpay Evans. Even if it was thoroughly exhausting to know her.

"So anyways," she said, making her way back towards him. She hopped up onto the thin mattress of his bed, folding her legs beneath herself to sit pretzel-style across from him. "I was pretty surprised when you called me tonight."

"Yeah?" he asked, then cleared his throat so as to disguise the nervousness that seemed to coat his voice.

"Yep."

They sat without words for too long after that, Sharpay staring straight at him, waiting for him to crumble. His throat felt dry, his palms had a clamminess to them, and his heart was racing a bit faster than normal but, if he said so himself, he was doing an awfully good job at not breaking under her scrutiny.

"Fine," she stuck out her tongue. "Be like that. I'll just come out and ask then, shall I? Why else did you call?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as much as I love being simply briefed on your situation--I pass along the news to Noah, and it keeps him from having some kind of panic-induced asthma attack--I know you didn't just call to tell me that you're screwed. Was there anything else, something you wanted to_ask me_, perhaps?"

Her hinting was heavy, and he'd have to be an idiot to not understand what she was implying. Because it was true: he'd called with the original intent of asking for help, but chickened out halfway through the call. It was one thing to accept her offer as it was being given, but to turn it down then call up and ask for it was just plain rude. (He was sure Miss Manners wouldn't have been impressed.)

"Um, I don't think so," he said. Really, he could have smacked himself... and he probably would have, had Sharpay not been in the room at the moment.

"Oh, whatever," she groaned. "Well fine, if you're not going to tell me that, can you tell me something else?"

Thankful for a way out to what seemed like a never-ending ring of embarassment, Troy eagerly leapt at the offer. "Sure, what?"

"When I first told you about L.A. the other day, why were you so against it?"

He deflated visibly, like a balloon pricked with a pin, and shook his head. "No comment."

"Oh please, I'm not behind a camera asking you if you're the one who went and got Jamie Lynn pregnant. Don't be such a wimp."

"I'm not a wimp!" he defended himself. "I just don't want to answer you. You don't want to hear the answer, anyway," he grumbled.

"Don't be too sure about that. Just tell me."

"What if this is it, huh?" he asked suddenly, a bit angrily. If she wanted the truth then fuck it, she'd get it. "What if this is all I am? They didn't want me when I tore my ACL, and after the surgery, what, are they all going to come crawling back? Why is it that everyone else is more excited about this than I am?"

"Troy," she laughed. "Calm down, okay? We all want you better, that's why we're fucking pushing you to get the surgery! I mean, sure you've actually developed a personality since you snapped your ABC thingy, but I'd really rather have a fully mobile Troy Bolton to trade insults with than a semi-handicapped one. Even if crutches do look absolutely _fetching_ on you."

Her wink tore down his guards, and begrudgingly he laughed back. "Fine, fine, you've broken me down, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Only ever since the first day I met you."

Her tone was vaguely flirtatious, and he found himself wondering why he was enjoying that little fact so much.

"So, then," he fiddled with the zipper pull on his jacket, "is the offer still open?"

"But of course, mon chéri."

"Um, I don't speak Japanese."

"Troy, Troy, Troy," she said, reaching across him to ruffle his hair. "You're so very, very clueless. It's actually kind of adorable."

He chuckled nervously and rubbed his neck, "Um, thanks."

"Well, get back to bed. You're definitely going to need your rest if we're going to California tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" he squeaked. "What about school? And tomorrow's when I'm supposed to be getting that new cast."

"Ugh, who cares about missing school? And if you're supposed to be getting a new cast, it seems like I'm just in time. Me and Noah will be sneaking you out," and with that worrisome reply she was out the door.

But the world was full of possibilities as his head hit the pillowcase. Suddenly he was strangely drowsy, and able to slip into unconsciousness quickly after the door clicked shut. Hours later, he'd realize why as he dreamed of Hawaiian fish, Chelsey Hargrove's party, and a kiss that he thought he imagined happening. And_holyfuckingshit_, he'd realize with a start--bolting upright in bed and managing to move only the upper half of his body, clutching at the comforter with white knuckles--he was developing a crush on _Sharpay Evans. _

* * *

**a/n:**_Bleck. I didn't like this chapter very much. It was probably the most difficult for me to write so far, even when compared to the last one which took how long to get out? I dunno, it just didn't flow well for me. (Too much Troy angst, perhaps?) The only part I did like was Chad and Troy's tussle_ ; ) _lol, I've had that written up for awhile._

_

* * *

_chapter title/lyrics credit: rolling with the punches - gallows


	13. Touchdown Turnaround

_touchdown turnaround, everything is safe and sound.  
- -_

"Come on Noah, quit lagging," Sharpay reprimanded her friend. If they were going to get to L.A. any time within the year they'd have to be fast, and Noah twenty paces behind wasn't helping.

"Sorry," he replied. His grin was goofy, "I love it when we're stealth."

"Definitely. It gives me a chance to wear black, and I mean, how _cute_ is this outfit?"

Noah simply smiled as she motioned to the black thigh high boots, leggings, and embellished t-shirt. "Um, I'm guessing the answer would be _very_."

She patted his curly hair affectionately, "Why yes it would."

"I've got just one question," he said, following her lead through the hospital's winding hallways.

"And what's that?"

"It's almost noon. How is black supposed to disguise you?"

The look she sent him was withering, and he shrunk away comically, holding up his hands in defense. Rolling her eyes, she placed a finger to her lips to indicate silence and slowly peeked around the wall. The coast was clear, so she motioned for Noah to follow her. They'd made it a decent distance of the way undetected so far, which was really quite an accomplishment for a small hospital--usually there were more than a couple doctors and nurses roaming the halls--and she was thankful it seemed to be a slow day.

"Can we stop for lunch after this? You interrupted my bagel-slicing with your kamikaze hijinks."

"Yeah, no problem. We can stop for peanut butter sandwiches and get a whole bag of Reese's for dessert."

She laughed recklessly at Noah's expression, watching as his features twisted to horror-stricken and his already light skin turn pallid. Patting his shoulder, she smiled "I'm just kidding. We'll hit the road, starting at IHOP we'll stop at diner to diner, the pancake tour of North America. Just like you've always wanted."

His expression completely changed, eyes wide and face glowing, he pumped his arms and screamed, "YES! You, Sharpay Evans, make dreams come true."

She winked, "That's my status on Facebook."

Caught up in their camaraderie, neither noticed the footsteps of the nurse on duty fast approaching. It was only after they'd high-fived each other childishly that Sharpay turned around and saw the woman. By the time she'd pushed Noah into a medical supplies closet, they both knew they were caught.

"Well, hello there," the woman greeted sarcastically, throwing the door open and critically eyeing their positions: Sharpay nearly straddling Noah as she tried to remove herself after they'd both fallen into the space. "Can I help you two?"

"Oh, no thanks," Sharpay waved off. "We were just... um, going for a walk."

"Is that so? Well, hospital regulations state that all visitors must receive passes with their intended destinations printed on them. I see no such passes."

"I have a bus pass," Noah chipped in, finally able to stand himself up, he pulled the blonde's hand to get her to her feet as well.

The nurse giggled in a would-be flirtatious tone. That is, would be if she were anywhere below (or near) 50; would be if she were attractive in the slightest; and would be if she didn't smell like stale Tostitos and catnip. "Why don't I help you out then?"

The Nurse's Station was relatively small compared to all those Sharpay had seen on hospital dramas, though she couldn't say she was entirely surprised. Midday sunlight streamed through the window blinds, reflecting off of the mess of white photocopies almost blindingly. Nurse Judith, as her nametag read, sat in the worn swivel chair before a pre-Millennium era white computer, and wrote the date and time on top of two white sticker passes.

"Who are you going to visit?"

"Troy Bolton," Sharpay answered, even though she knew Judith's eyes were directly on Noah.

A sneer was directed her way briefly before she looked up the room number, fake nails tapping obnoxiously against the keyboard as she did so. Writing the numbers 211, in something that could only be described as chicken scratch, she signed both and stood, coming to stand outside of the messy area.

"There you go, dear," she stuck the pass onto Noah's chest, perhaps letting her hand linger a little too long as she unnecessarily patted it into place several times. To Sharpay, she simply stuck out the sticker, her eyes completely on the boy the whole time.

"Thanks a bunch," Sharpay grinned fakely, "but we really should be going now."

"Not so fast. Hospital regulations also state that only one minor may visit a patient who's also a minor at a time." She wrapped her arm tightly around Noah's shoulders, pressing him into her side, and seeming not to notice the rigid way he stood or the nervous gulp in his throat. "So why don't you stay here with me, sweetie."

"Oh, _hell_ no. You totally just made that up. How can you stop us from seeing our dying friend? That's just cruel. And, and un-American!" she shouted, scandalized.

"What are you talking about, S? Troy's not--"

"Hush," she said, placing her finger against his lips (and discreetly crushing his foot with her stiletto heel). "No more denial. I know you don't like to admit it, we've all been friends for _such_ a long time, but Troy's dying and the only thing we can do is keep him company until it happens."

"Excuse me, but I would _never_ make up such a thing." Judy piped in. "You just go along and visit your friend, while I stay here with this scrumptious fellow."

She walked closer to the squat nurse, hand on hip importantly, "Perhaps you don't know who I am. I'm Sharpay Evans, of the Albuquerque Evans's. As in, the Evans' who donate quite a nice chunk of change to this dump every year. It'd be quite tragic if we just _stopped_ one day because you wouldn't let the _two_ of us go see our dying friend."

Eyes widening and trailing to the numerous plaques littering the halls with the names of many of her relatives on them, she released Noah from his position against her (after which he heaved an enormous sigh of relief, quickly scurrying to Sharpay's side). "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I was dealing with an Evans. You two just go along now."

Neither missed the suggestive wink, and toe-curling leer, she threw at Noah.

xxx

"Troy!" Noah shouted, barging into room 211. "Are you okay? We heard these really dramatic screams..."

He trailed off, and stood stock-still at his place by the door, eyes traveling from Troy to the television, to Sharpay with wide alarm. Troy didn't look much better, nervously searching through his blankets for the remote control and switching the channel to ESPN.

Really, there was nothing she could do except laugh. "Were you just watching _All My Children?"_

"No," he stuttered. "No, absolutely not."

"Oh," Noah deadpanned. "Well it kind of looked like you were."

"And is that a tear in your eye?" she asked, moving closer to the boy in the bed.

"I swear, I just turned the TV on and that was the station it landed on!"

"Mmhmm," Sharpay stated disbelievingly, arms crossed across her chest. "And that's why when I was here, like, ten hours ago the TV was on channel thirteen and now it's magically on seven?"

Her gaze was heavy, and no match for his. With his eyes staring intently at the wall above her head, he nodded, "I think the nurses must have changed it."

"Nice cover," Noah added, bringing a folded wheelchair into the center of the room and opening it.

"What's that for?" Troy asked wearily. Sharpay sighed. Was there ever a time he _wasn't_ nervous anymore?

After explaining to him as slowly as possible that it was his ticket out of hell, he eagerly moved his leg from its elevated position on two pillows and grabbed his crutches to get in the wheelchair. Noah guided him through the halls, mumbling apologies every now and then when the device got out of his control and Troy's good leg frequently skimmed the walls. Sharpay watched them go through her peripherals, way too interested to miss such a perfect mocking opportunity, but still trying to take her lookout position seriously. Of course, she and Noah had been counting on getting in and stealing the wheelchair as easy, but the hard part was most definitely trying to smuggle a patient out.

"See," Noah smiled, "this escape plan is the kind of thing that made me All-Camp Capture-the-Flag Champ Tahoe. It was extremely stealth."

"I've been thinking," she said, turning around. Two mouths opened and she harshly cut in, "No opinions from the Peanut Gallery." The boys quickly deflated, and she continued. "The easiest way to get out is going to be the way we came in."

"But that means..." Noah started with fearful eyes, causing him to once again lose control of the wheelchair and Troy to mutter a slew of profanities as his head banged into the wall.

"Yes, Noah, that means seeing Judy again."

"Don't look at me like that!" he shrieked quietly.

She batted her eyelashes innocently, "Look at you like what?"

"I know what you want me to do, and I won't do it!"

Two minutes later he was at the nurses' station, striking up a rousing conversation about _All My Children _to distract Judith as Sharpay wheeled Troy past. She held back chuckles, and had to admit she didn't give his acting enough credit. The way he casually pointed to a picture of her on the wall opposite of them and claimed it made her eyes sparkle like emeralds in the moonlight was genius. The woman didn't even have time to realize she had shit-brown eyes before Noah was bidding his farewell and sprinting down the halls.

"Freedom!" Troy cried once they'd reached the parking lot, pumping his arms enthusiastically in the air.

"Jeez, Drama Queen, you've only been in there for twenty-four hours," Sharpay pointed out.

He sighed, "And yet it's felt like years."

Turning to ask Noah for help lifting Troy in the car, she managed a "Noah, are you okay?" before breaking down into loud and obnoxious giggles. His features twisted in disgust, shivering every few seconds, she figured if any of them had a lighter he'd try to burn his eyes out just to attempt to forget the image of the unsightly nurse crushing on him. But after a few minutes of making him perform her breathing exercises, Sharpay was finally able to calm him down, and together they helped Troy recline across the backseat.

"Are we keeping the wheelchair?" Noah asked.

"Yeah, just put it in the trunk," Sharpay shrugged. "You never know when we might need it again."

The road stretched on for miles before them, and Sharpay's road mix blared through the speakers as they made their way down the highway. The little search-and-rescue had taken less time than she planned, and with the relatively sparse traffic coating the highway she figured they'd make it to Albuquerque International Sunport with just enough time to spare. Troy didn't know it, but she had a duffel bag packed for him in the trunk, right next to her hot pink designer tote and Noah's thoroughly weathered canvas messenger bag.

As she'd already figured, Troy had a million and a half questions as she parked in the designated section for Long-Term travelers. Keeping a surprisingly cool head, she was able to answer most of them without biting at him--all too tempting considering he was getting just a _teensy_ bit annoying with his ongoing barrage. Luckily he wasn't able to see her face as she rolled her eyes numerous times at the back of his head while wheeling him along the parking lot and into the airport, Noah struggling with their three bags and Troy's crutches behind them. (That kid really needed to hit the gym, and she made a mental note to ask Ryan about getting him started on a yoga regime once they got back home.)

"How long will we be gone?" Troy's newest question came as they waited on line at their terminal.

"I don't know, does it really matter?" she snipped. "We'll be there as long as we need to, and not a day longer."

He shrugged. "I really should have called my parents. They'll probably need to call me out of school."

"Um, Troy?" her eyebrows rose. "You got into a fight in the middle of the hallway with your former best friend. Matsui suspended both of you for the week."

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah, well. Anyways, I've already had a little chat with your parents," she informed him, and smiled satisfactorily when he craned his neck to stare at her in confusion. "Oh yes, me and the Boltons are quite tight now. I'm going shopping with your mom next week and taking your dad to a basketball game the day after."

"Are you serious?" he spluttered.

He looked so flabbergasted she could only laugh. "No, Troy. You completely suck at detecting sarcasm. I really did talk to them when we picked up your stuff, though. They weren't happy with us busting you out, or the fact that we have no parental supervision for our little excursion, but they're all too thrilled that the surgery's really happening. Oh, and you're supposed to call right before we board and right after we land."

He nodded, pulling the cell phone she'd retrieved from his strikingly neat room. His conversation with his parents wasn't long, and Sharpay smiled as she heard him continually reassure, who she assumed was his mother, that they would be fine and promised they'd stay together.

"Yes, I know L.A.'s a big city."

Noah looked up from the issue of _Rolling Stone_ he'd bought at a nearby stand and grinned.

"Yeah, we're gonna be_ very_ safe." A deep blush settled over his cheeks as he quietly mumbled, "I love you, too," before hanging up and tucking the phone back into his pocket.

She held back the teasing "Aw!" on the tip of her tongue, and settled for her new favorite habit: ruffling his hair. But hey, she couldn't help it if his brown locks were soft to the touch, or that he acted like such a little kid sometimes. It was either messing with his hair or pinching his cheeks, and she figured she had at least another forty years to go before she'd consider the latter.

They didn't have to settle into the uncomfortable plastic waiting chairs for long, as their boarding call was announced only a half hour later. A stewardess quickly confiscated the crutches out of Noah's hands, promising to give them back if Troy needed them to walk to the bathroom or something. Luckily the flight was only a few minutes past an hour, so the possibility was slim, because they quickly discovered airplanes were not particularly accommodating for those with a handicap. As she noticed this, Sharpay was thankful she'd booked four first-class seats, with the extra so Troy could have two to himself should leg propping be necessary.

"I can't believe you thought ahead enough to do this," Troy said, lowering himself into the window seat, and moving back the armrest between his two seats to swing his legs up.

"Yes well, a fabulous brain rests underneath this perfectly styled blonde hair."

Noah popped up from his seat in front of him, quipping "You'd never really guess. She hides it well."

She simply stuck out her tongue in response. And then took the United Airlines magazine out of the pocket behind the seat to chuck at him. Making sure Troy was seat-belted and alright overall, she checked the overhead compartments to be sure their bags were safe, and settled into her seat beside Noah as the pilot's welcome speech came over the speakers.

xxx

"I will admit the circumstances are a bit out of the ordinary, I usually mandate a guardian present, but I've already spoken to both sets of parents and they've assured me many times that they whole-heartedly approve."

Sharpay smiled in response, perhaps a bit more coquettishly than was warranted for a doctor's office, but she didn't see the harm when the doctor was so exceptionally handsome. It didn't hurt his case that he was young and a prodigy. Noah shook his head at her, bemusement covering his features as he attempted to keep himself awake through all the medical jargon; he'd wound up in enough emergency rooms with all the stunts he pulled to know the drill by now, so she didn't blame him for getting bored. Troy, meanwhile, looked like he was watching a crossover of _Flavor of Love_ and _Hannah Montana _for all the attention he was focusing.

The office was comfortable, a large black desk serving as the focal point and contrasting against the sky blue walls lined with plaques and accolades--one of them his diploma from Columbia University. Sharpay and Noah occupied one of the two rather squishy navy loveseats facing the desk, with Troy in the other. Outside the window she could clearly see palm trees blowing in the soft pacific breeze, and the bright sand of a beach across the street. Suffice it to say, she was all too ready to pull out her new bikini and jump straight into the waves.

"So, I'm not really sure what the surgery involves," Troy prodded. "Can you just overview it for me? I'm still having some second thoughts."

"Of course!" Dr. Anderson assured, warmth radiating from his smile. Troy gave her an odd look as a longing sigh escaped, but hell he was cute and not _too_ much older than her. (She'd always been a sucker for blue eyes and a winning smile.)

He pulled an MRI out of the folder labeled "Bolton, Troy" and placed it on his desk, using his ball-point pen to point out ligaments and bones and whatnot. "This right here is your ACL, and you can see the damage to it. What we're going to do is remove it and replace it with a graft, which is just something made of a tendon in your quadricep muscles, which are right here. You really have nothing to worry about with me, Troy. I've performed this operation numerous times, and so far no fatalities, which is more than I can say for my heart transplants."

Troy looked at him blankly.

"That was meant to be a joke. I'm sorry, it was really not funny at all. I think I need to work on my comedy." He laughed briefly, and Sharpay did as well, exaggeratedly of course. He glanced at her, and her heart just about stopped beating.

Troy nodded. "So I have absolutely nothing to worry about?"

"Nothing at all." The doctor took back the MRI to put it in a pile of other papers to be added to Troy's folder and folded his hands on top of his desk. "Hard as it may be to believe, it's actually kind of good it's taken a few weeks for you to get here. ACL Reconstruction isn't usually performed for at least a month until after the initial injury, so I'm pretty surprised your doctor back in Albuquerque even advised it so early."

Noah mumbled something like "freak conspiracies," "unqualified," and "Judith," after which he promptly shivered.

"And what about afterwards?" she found herself asking. "Is he going to be stuck in a cast again?"

"There won't be a cast, but I would suggest the use of a knee brace for at least two to four weeks after the surgery. No study has clearly shown that post-operative knee braces significantly help protect the healing graft after an ACL reconstruction, but with a basketball career hanging in the balance we don't really want to take any chances. And, I hope you've gotten the hang of those crutches because you'll be on them for another month at least."

"Don't worry," Troy turned to her with a significant smile; she would never admit it, even under oath, but it made a small fleet of butterflies pop up for a hot second. "I've had some lessons."

Dr. Anderson smiled at them both, "Well, that's about all. I've contacted a great physical therapy center just a few miles from your house, and you'll proceed with rehabilitation for about two to six months after the first month of healing. Oh, you'll probably want to wear the knee brace once you return to sports. Once again, it hasn't been scientifically proven to help incredibly, but most of my patients feel more comfortable with it, just in case. Sound good?"

"Sounds too good to be true," Troy grinned, but Sharpay could feel the trepidation in his voice. She saw that same flash of fear in his eyes she'd seen the day he'd returned to school after the incident, and she knew nothing would be able to appease him until he was back on the court with a full range of motion.

"Great. Well, if you want to go on into your room you can, and one of the nurses will come get you shortly."

Sharpay jumped up quickly, thanking Dr. Anderson profusely and shaking his hand (maybe squeezing a _bit_ too tight as she did). He gave them all one final farewell before leaving the room, and as soon as he disappeared from sight Noah burst out laughing. She sent him a withering glare--_no one_ got in the way of Sharpay Evans and those she chose to flirt with--and he promptly stopped, instead handing a still-confused Troy his crutches and heading out the door himself.

And she had to admit, even by her own standards, Troy's room this time around was pretty spiffy. Of course, it was no Hilton suite, but it wasn't an atrocious white mess, and that was what really mattered. Without a doubt, the corner windows giving way to a long stretch of beaches and a plasma TV hanging on the wall definitely didn't hurt.

Troy settled onto the light blue sheets and picked up the remote control with wide eyes and a smile on his face. To him, this room probably might as well have been a Hilton suite.

"Hey, you guys want anything? I'm gonna go down to the cafeteria and buy a Red Bull."

"Noah, you're about the last person who needs an energy drink. Don't you remember what happened last time?" Sharpay reminded him, hands on hips. Troy narrowed his eyes at her, but she ignored him -- she wasn't being mean, really, she just didn't want him running into walls and jumping on top of strangers the way he had last time. The twitching hadn't been too pretty, either.

"Mmm, true," he nodded. "Coke it is."

Troy reached into his back pocket, pulling out a few crinkled up bills, "Can you get me a Gatorade or something? I don't think I drank anything all day."

"No problem," Noah said, taking the money. "Sharpay?"

"Iced tea would be lovely, dear," she smiled.

"Alright, I'll see you crazy kids later." He stuck his head back in the door a moment later, "And don't do anything I wouldn't do! Those sheets look really clean."

Troy flushed scarlet, and Sharpay just laughed. The kid was way too easily embarrassed, he would definitely need to get over that. In fact, she was surprised he hadn't already; Noah tended to say some pretty embarrassing stuff, whether he realized it or not.

"So," she spoke up. "How're you feeling?"

"Really nervous, still," he sighed. "I just keep thinking that it's okay, and nothing's going to go wrong, but I don't know. It just won't go away."

"That's normal. I mean, I got my appendix removed when I was 9 and I was shaking like a leaf, even though I _knew_ that it was one of the simplest procedures out there," she admitted.

He just smiled weakly at her.

"Is there something else?" she then asked. His entire body looked tense, and he was gulping more than he usually did.

The room was quiet for a minute. She was about to give up and change topics when suddenly he looked at her with startlingly sober eyes. "I'm scared," he confessed. And she could do nothing--offer no snappy retort or comforting words--so she wrapped her arms around him, thinking she had never seen him so incredibly vulnerable.

"There's nothing to worry about."

He sighed, the movement rattling his entire body. "I hope you're right."

She smiled before ruffling his hair again, "I always am."

"This whole thing, the getting better and everything, has been so much harder than I ever thought it would. I mean, sometimes I have to stop and ask myself 'who am I?' because I just have no idea."

She sat next to him on his bed, quietly egging him on by nudging him with her shoulder.

"For the first time in my life I was scared. I've never been so worried about anything before. Things have always come so easy for me, and I took it all for granted. Fuck, that's probably why this happened to me in the first place, isn't it? I need to learn how to adapt to change, or whatever. Karma."

"Or maybe you needed help finding out what you really love to do."

"I'll never forget singing," he said with a smile, eyes shrouded in memories. "It helped me in more ways than I can count. But doing it for the rest of my life just doesn't seem right. I could probably be relatively happy, but it'd feel like I'm lying to myself. Basketball's really the only thing that's ever made sense to me."

"Well then, you know what you have to do."

He wrinkled his brow, "What's that?"

"Get well soon, you idiot!" she said happily, shoving his arm playfully. "And try not to get into anymore scuffles with old friends, yeah?"

He smiled, and thanked her with a half-hug. She closed her eyes and thought of England as he did, for no other reason that to find some way to ignore those damnedfreaking butterflies.

And just because they were sharing and the silence that fell over the room was just screaming for inane comments, Sharpay threw in, "Well hey, my idol used to be Britney Spears. You can see how that'd pose a problem for me."

Troy pretended to study her, hand holding his chin as he tried to fight back a smirk, "Yeah. I actually kind of like you with hair."

"And not wielding umbrellas as weapons?"

"Definitely."

He laughed then, shaking his head before letting it fall into his pillow as a contented smile crossed his lips. He allowed his lashes to flutter shut, and she could feel the hope hang in the air... but then again that could have just been the southern California humidity.

Deciding to let him rest, she made sure his leg was propped up nicely, said her goodbyes and slipped out the door. As she entered the hall, Sharpay was relieved that Noah was only a short distance away. She was in desperate need of a cat nap and though her Nicole Miller peep-toe pumps were absolutely adorable, they weren't exactly the most suitable for walking long distances, so not having to chase him through the hospital was always a plus. That's when she noticed Noah's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, redder than they'd ever been before, as a young nurse wrote something on the palm of his hand. She shot him a wink as she strode away, and he practically fell over. Was that really what it looked like?

"Noah Adam Davies!" she scolded. "Did I just witness what I think I witnessed?"

"Um." He looked up with unblinking eyes, "Not if you think you witnessed an alien invasion after which the majority of the human population was killed off and/or impregnated by the aforementioned aliens."

"Are you on acid?" she questioned with a laugh. "I really wonder sometimes."

He smiled back, and offered over her favorite brand of iced tea. "Sorry I took so long."

"It's not a problem, I see you were _busy_."

"I... I..." he hung his head, "I have no idea what I'm trying to say."

"I believe the proper words would be 'Look at me, Sharpay! I'm a total magnet for hospital workers, young and old alike!'"

"Oh, nice job! Way to kill the mood," he shuddered. Violently. Multiple times.

"Oops, my bad," she shrugged unapologetically.

"Are we leaving?"

"Yep. You ready?"

"Sure, sure, let me just run this Gatorade over to Troy before he dies of dehydration and not even Dr. Anderson can revive him."

"Mmhmm, you do that. But don't think you can escape talking to me about Little Miss Fluttering Eyelashes!"

She laughed as she leaned against the wall, flipping open her Sidekick and typing away as she waited. Sometimes Noah could be downright adorable--really, it was like having a six-year-old brother who was crushing on her older friends and blushing like a porcelain doll all the while. She heard the door close, and watched as the curly-haired boy pressed his ear against it momentarily.

"Yep," he concluded soundly. Turning with a grin stretched across his face, he shoved his hands in his the pockets of his cargo pants and continued down the hall, "Troy definitely just flipped the channel to watch _All My Children_."

* * *

**a/n:** _So, finally, huh? Yep, indeed. This went through about three drafts before I settled for this, and I've now redrawn all my pre-existing plans for the story and have somewhat of a list of events set up to inspire me to write the rest. Hope you all enjoyed the peacefulness, because I've got some drama planned before this ends in a few more chapters _: )

_ Oh, and please forgive any mistakes. I didn't get a chance to super-critically read through it and do the grammar/spelling check like I usually do, but I wanted to get it out. Corrections and stuff will come a little later. Seeyouu all soon!_

* * *

**and to Gryffindor Princess:** _Thanks lots & lots for the review !_ : ) _And thanks for the compliments, too. I'll always love HSM for what it was: a cheesy Disney Channel movie that I could watch when real life got too suckish to handle, but I do adore the fact that there's so much potential to tweak the characters the way you want them to and bring them into situations that throw them for loops every now and again so it's cool to know you agree! Haha, and I'm glad to know you'd like to see this as a film. I'll totally contact Disney & see what we can work out_ ; ) _I mean, it's not like they're trying to exploit it to the death or anything .._

_

* * *

_chapter title/lyrics credit: touchdown turnaround - hellogoodbye


	14. Dancing in the Dark

_been searching for a spark, a fire still burning.  
- -_

Troy sat on his bed, flipping through the channels and groaning as each in succession was either an infomercial or terrible daytime TV programming. Of course, _All My Children_ was on, but he'd gotten enough flack over that the past few days to decide to skip straight past it. School wouldn't be out for another couple of hours yet, and the emptiness of the room he inhabited felt weird after being in constant company for the past few days.

A mental note he'd previously saved and filed jumped out at him then, reminding him he needed to do something incredibly extravagant for Sharpay to pay her back for everything she'd done for him. For the first time in a long time he felt hope swell through him like liquid fire coursing his veins, and that in and of itself was enough to warrant buying her the biggest diamond Zales could come up with. But that was too impersonal for him (despite the fact that hope could not be converted into cold hard cash, thus disabling him from purchasing said large diamond), and he knew what he got her had to show the strength of their friendship... that he was trying just as hard as she was to make up for the past.

And then he remembered how they'd really bonded to begin with--one kid with a dream deferred to another--and he knew. Picking up the laptop from off the floor he quickly opened two or three search engines at once, typing in varying phrases to get the best results. He copied down phone numbers and addresses, some stats here and there, and grabbed his cell phone off the charger. If this was happening, it needed to happen now; the excitement in his mind was setting off adrenaline, his heart pounding loudly as he pressed numbers into the silver phone.

He'd lost count of how many numbers he'd called, and how many messages he'd left by the time the clock struck three. A text message from Sharpay, stating that she and Noah were heading to their lockers then coming over, was his only interruption throughout the whole process. Knowing that she was coming over just heightened the childlike glee bubbling within him, and like a kid caught playing video games instead of doing homework, he scrambled to get the rest of the numbers on his list dialed.

The two burst in the room, loud and awkward (in Sharpay and Noah's cases, respectively) as they always were, just as he flipped his phone closed. Sharpay quirked an eyebrow, searching his face as she came in and sat some of his notebooks on his desk. Clearly she was suspicious with the slight pant of his breath and widened eyes. He really needed to work on keeping a straight face.

"What's going on?" she questioned lightly.

"Oh, nothing!" he said quickly. It was _too _quickly, he realized in the silence that followed, and she looked even more suspicious than before.

"Kazoo!" Noah shouted from his place still by the door, and both Troy and Sharpay's eyes flew to him questioningly. "Sorry, just trying to ease the tenseness."

Troy felt his lips slide into a large grin, and he was thankful for the comment--strange as it may have been--because Sharpay seemed to realize that she should drop what could have turned into an inquisition. He hopped over to his desk and picked up the sheet of looseleaf she'd written his homework on, making a casual inspection of what he was to do that night. Or, at least he hoped it was casual, because with Sharpay standing so close _and _still staring at him, he was quite sure his cheeks were flaming red.

xxx

It was the next day, bright and obnoxiously early, when Troy's phone began to vibrate rather loudly against his bedside table. He jerked his torso up in fright, eyes wide and full of sleep, and watched with a detached sort of confusion as the device bounced right onto the floor and continued to twitch around. Looking briefly to his alarm clock and noticing that it was, in fact, much too early to even think about being awake (especially with no school to rise and shine for), he muttered some choice four letter words before giving in and reaching down to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" he asked, voice groggy and eyes closing of their own accord.

"Hello," a prim female voice rang out over the line. "Is this Troy Bolton?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"This is Janine Houghman, on behalf of Ann Wilder at _United Artists Unlimited_. I'm calling to discuss a message request you left at the office yesterday afternoon."

His heart stopped beating for a few moments, eyes opening wide for the second time that morning. Was this really happening, he wondered. Was he really one step closer to getting Sharpay to her dream? When his breath returned, it came in short gasps.

"Mr. Bolton?" the voice on the line inquired. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah--_yes_, sorry."

"While Ms. Wilder is impressed with the initiative you took in calling for your friend, before she considers coming to New Mexico she'd like to see a body of work from her. Perhaps an audition tape, or previous starring roles."

"Like a video tape?" he questioned, wondering how the hell he was supposed to pull that off.

"Exactly. A video tape or DVD would be perfect, that way she knows what type of actress your friend is before scheduling a meeting and live audition."

"Um," he gulped roughly and pulled at the collar of his T-shirt. Suddenly it felt a bit stifling in the room. "Okay, I'll try to find a couple and ship them to your office."

"We also provide a resume available for download on our website, so you may want to fill that out and email it over to us. Once you do that and ship the video then everything will be in order."

"Okay, sounds good," he mumbled, though his mind was screaming with questions. He'd barely even filled out his college applications yet, and he found those questions difficult enough, so he really had no idea how he was expected to fill out a detailed resume for someone else.

"Thank you, Mr. Bolton. I hope to speak with you soon."

"Yeah, thank you, too."

Bidding his pleasantries, he sunk back into the plush mattress and breathed a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe he'd thought it would be as simple as a phone call to get Sharpay an agent. Now, he was faced with quite the conundrum indeed, because he wasn't allowed on school grounds until his suspension was complete, but the only videos of Sharpay's past East High performances were in Darbus's room. And then there was the added pressure of doing this all and managing to keep it a surprise from Sharpay, which was a pretty naive plan on his part because that girl was far too perceptive.

With a grumble he pulled his discarded comforter back around him and decided to leave the heavy thinking until the sun came up. He'd recently come to the conclusion that New York receptionists had absolutely no grasp on time differences.

The thought increased tenfold, because by ten a.m., Troy was hell-bent on throwing his phone against the wall and watching as it crumbled. Twelve new voicemails had the device buzzing, and he really couldn't even remember calling that many people, but listening to the messages made it obvious he had. There were probably more, too, because random flashes of names peaked at him from the list that'd fallen to the floor, and not all of them had called back. The ones who did, he was unsurprised to hear, requested resumes and video footage, as well as headshots.

He'd quickly realized that trying to get back to sleep would be useless, and decided instead to get started on the project that would surely be keeping him busy for awhile. Shoving his feet into socks and sneakers and bumbling around to make himself look almost presentable to the waking world, he decided the only way to do what he needed to do was sneak in. Scheming, however, was not exactly his strong suit, and he knew only one person who could help. (Well, actually, two but even though he would never admit it, Ryan Evans intimidated the hell out of him.)

"I need your help to sneak on campus. Don't tell Sharpay," he sent the text to Noah, then sat twiddling his thumbs while waiting for a reply.

The response was speedy, and a simple (somewhat spastic) affirmation that he would come pick him up and help during his free eighth period. Troy felt a smile come to quirk his lips, and he wasn't sure whether it was because paying it forward was a pretty damn good feeling, or if it was because now at least he had time to shower and comb his hair.

A few hours later Noah's SUV pulled up in front, and immediately he put the window down to profusely apologize for his tardiness.

"Noah, chill out," Troy laughed.

"Right, right, sorry. Ack! I'm so excited, though! I mean, two stealth stunts in one month? Pretty crazy. Like a dream come true!"

Troy wouldn't voice it, but the grin Noah shot him was kind of frightening. He ignored the slightly homicidal look of it (Jack Nicholson in _The Shining _was the only comparison he could draw), and hopped into the vehicle. Then they were shooting off down the street and he had to wonder who was the better driver, him or Sharpay, because they both hit the pedal like they were running from a fire.

"Did you drink a Red Bull today?" he asked with a furrow of his brow, because it was the loudest he'd ever heard him, and he was twitching quite a bit.

"Um," Noah _giggled_. "Maybe one... or three. Don't tell Sharpay!"

"Right. I promise, as long as you get us to school in one piece," he bargained, suppressing what was sure to be a rather loud gulp of fright. Of course, when they pulled adjacent to a strip of lawn in one of the most ill-fated attempts at parallel parking Troy had ever seen, he jumped out of the car and took several deep breaths. He never thought he'd be so thankful to be back on his crutches.

As Noah smiled charmingly at a security guard asking who his friend was, he instinctively pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes. If he'd had enough time to actually plan something out beforehand, he might have come up with a clever way to hide his crutches, because the metal sticks seemed glaringly obvious at giving him away. Thankfully, however, no one he knew had passed by yet, and the only teachers he'd come across weren't his.

"Come on, Seth!" Noah's voice called to him from the sidewalk. Troy crinkled his brow in confusion, looking for this Seth person, and then catching the wink tossed his way and realized that was supposed to be him. He made his way slowly towards the other boy, turning his head to subtly check out the scenery--at least, that's what he hoped it looked like--as he passed the guard.

"Don't worry about Jackie," Noah whispered to him as they made their way inside. "She's on a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. Most of the guards don't care what you do, as long as it can't be traced back to them."

Troy allowed himself to calm down some at that, thankful his plan hadn't been foiled quite yet. He realized that maybe, _maybe_, East High wasn't really as secure as it could be if security monitors were so eager to turn the other way, but as this was working to his benefit he decided to overlook it. (Besides, it didn't seem all too likely that EHS would be the prime target for criminal masterminds or underground terrorist organizations any time soon.)

"So, T-_Seth_," Noah caught his near slip-up with wide eyes as they roamed the halls, "How's life been going?"

"Oh, you know, peachy keen," Troy responded with a raised eyebrow, because he wasn't entirely sure whether or not Noah was being serious. (Was he ever?) Judging by the other boy's reaction--a slightly high-pitched giggle of childlike glee--he figured _something_ about his answer must have been satisfactory.

Then the silence returned. Troy never ventured out into the hallways much during classes, as his teachers always hassled kids trying to use the bathrooms or get a drink of water, but when he did the stillness always got to him. East High's halls were meant to be crowded with teenagers--typing rapidly onto cellphones, yelling eagerly towards friends--and it was always a bit disorienting to see them so completely bare.

The two made their way past the gym (where he spotted Chad and the team getting a little free throw practice in), and headed towards the other end of the school, where the auditorium and Darbus's room were.

xxx

"So, what are we looking for exactly?" Noah asked in a harsh whisper.

Troy sneezed as a bunch of dust was lifted from the shelves before he finally looked over at the other boy. "Tapes from the past few musicals: Twinkle Towne, Guys and Dolls, basically anything Sharpay's starred in."

"Hey Troy?" Troy, who had gone back to rifling through old boxes, turned to face Noah when he heard the thoughtful expression in his tone. "I just wanted to say, I think what you're doing for Sharpay is really great. I know that, maybe, she didn't always get along with you and your friends, but she does really deserve this. She's worked harder than anyone I know."

"Thanks Noah," he grinned at the usually-spastic boy across the room. "That means a lot. And besides, it's the least I can do after all the help she's given me."

Noah just smiled and nodded.

They worked in relative silence after that. As he dug through shelves, filing cabinets and closets, Troy had come to the conclusion that Darbus was quite the packrat. He'd sorted through photos dating back to his father's high school years, a number of scripts (many from plays he'd never even heard of), and gift's from previous casts to Darbus, but he was seriously beginning to doubt that he would find what it was he came for.

"Holy Captain Oats! Troy, come look at this!"

Troy jumped in surprise from his place crouched on the floor, managing to smack his head against the handle of a wheelbarrow prop as he did, and went over to where Noah stood with mouth in a perfect 'o' and slightly frightened eyes. Before he even got a chance to ask, Noah shoved the photograph he was holding into his hands. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but it most certainly was not _this_. Feeling his own jaw drop, he let the picture slip from his fingers as he rubbed furiously at his eyes in an attempt to erase the image from his mind.

"What the _hell_ was that?" he finally managed to shout. "Why did you show me that? Oh fuck, _ew_."

Noah laughed lightly, "Well I was definitely _not_ going to be the only one with _that_ burned into my brain."

"But the hula skirt and the... _coconuts_," Troy shivered. "_When _did Darbus even meet George Clooney, and _why _was she dressed like that?"

In a strange role reversal, Noah patted Troy on the shoulder consolingly, "All questions we shall never know the answers to. I'm pretty sure that's a good thing, though."

"Okay, okay," Troy tried to shake it off as he picked up the photo, making sure not to look at it again, and handed it to Noah. "Put that away--please, make sure it's covered--and let's skip this closet. I don't even want to know what else is in here."

Noah saluted, did as he was told, and the two made their way to the last untouched closet. It figured, of course, that their final effort was the one that rewarded them. Sitting neatly on shelves, rows upon rows of VHSes sat, clearly labeled and in order by year.

"Okay, so I should grab everything since 2004, right?" Troy asked as he pulled a plastic grocery bag out of his pocket.

"2003," was the response he got, and when he rose a questioning eyebrow Noah elaborated, "She was recommended by the music teacher in eighth grade to try out here, since we didn't have a school play in middle school, and she got a lead role."

"Wow," Troy mumbled, grabbing the tape marked _2003: Gypsy _and putting it in the clear bag. He knew Sharpay and Ryan used to do community children's theatre when they were younger, but he had no idea she'd gotten a lead role in a high school play before they'd even actually made it to high school. Noah was right, she did deserve this. (And he maybe felt another stab of guilt that he and Gabriella had waltzed right in and taken the roles from her and her brother, when it was becoming glaringly obvious just how serious she really was about the theatre.) Off to the side there was a thick pile of programs to match all of the tapes, and Troy pocketed the ones he'd need to see which roles Sharpay had actually held over the years.

Unfortunately, their search through the drama department had taken longer than either boy had anticipated, and the bell signaling the end of Noah's free period rang soon after.

"Oh man, I've got an AP Calc test this period. Are you going to be alright hanging out until school lets out?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Troy shrugged. "Go ahead. I'll just go hang out in my dad's office or something. No one will see me."

Tying the handles of the shopping bag in a knot, he held it over to Noah, who had earlier explained he had a VCR/DVD recorder at home. It would be easiest for him to make copies of the productions and send them out, rather than Troy having to find a store to do it (or a kid from the TV Production Club to bribe). Noah took the proffered bag with a smile, "Okay, good luck."

Troy scoffed, "I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be saying that to you."

Noah's grin widened, "That is very, very true. I think I'd rather be in an office that smells like unwashed socks than trying to remember what the hell a limit is and when it does or does not exist."

Troy nodded, though he had absolutely no clue what the other boy was talking about, and waved as he walked off.

xxx

"Troy!" his father said, looking rather startled as he looked up from shuffling papers on his desk. "What are you doing here? Your suspension isn't up yet."

Hoping a lecture wasn't coming his way, Troy shrugged, "I had something to do but I couldn't get a ride home so I figured I'd just wait for you."

His father looked dubious anyway. "Something like what?"

"Um," looking pointedly at his feet he mumbled, "I just needed help doing something to repay Sharpay for the whole surgery thing."

"Oh, that reminds me, Sharpay's supposed to be stopping by some time after school so I can give her a check for her father."

Brows furrowed he asked, "But how'd you get the money?"

"I explained the situation to Dave, and he understood. He gave me a portion of my Christmas bonus early. The rest is just some money we've had saved up." His father grabbed a clipboard and got up from behind his desk, "I have a class right now, but just stay here until school lets out. I don't want you to get into any trouble for being here."

Troy nodded and took his father's vacated seat. He couldn't say he was thrilled with the prospect of waiting for school to end when he was on what felt like a vacation, but he had no other choice. Ironically enough, this period was his own Phys. Ed class. He hoped none of the guys noticed him in here, but they never spent a lot of time in the locker room since they mostly came to school in gym-acceptable clothing anyway, so he wasn't too worried.

Turning his father's computer on, he quickly logged into his email account. Earlier in the day he had searched online for sample resumes and saved the best-looking one. He had a vague notion of what they were supposed to look like for job interviews, but acting was another story entirely. He took the play/musical booklets out of his pocket and got to work with typing up who she had been in which performances. Then, he opened a reply email he'd received from Ryan the night before, which listed all of the camps and programs she'd been involved in since age six. At the bottom of the email was a simple message: "You'd better know what you're doing, Bolton." And yeah, that didn't make him nervous _at all._

He was briefly interrupted when his father stopped by to swap the clipboard he used to take the attendance of his gym classes for the playbook he used for the Wildcats.

"Well, you look busy," he commented as Troy's fingers continued to fly over the keyboard.

Without looking away, he simply nodded, "Yeah, I think I'm finally understanding how this whole show business things works."

Coach Bolton's lips turned up a bit at the sides, "You know, Troy, you've been spending a lot of time with Sharpay lately."

For the first time Troy looked up from the monitor, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at where exactly this conversation was headed. "She's turned out to be a good friend."

"Just a good friend, huh? Don't take this the wrong way, but I've also noticed you haven't been spending much--or any--time with Gabriella."

Perhaps more defensive than necessary, he muttered, "Yeah, so?"

"So, what I'm asking is, is there anything going on between you two?"

"Who two?"

"You and Sharpay."

"What? No! No, God, we're just friends," he managed to get out, inwardly cringing at how fake it sounded.

His father gave him one of those damn _knowing_ grins and Troy really hated that he did, in fact, seem to know. It was embarrassing. "Are you sure about that?"

Troy faltered, "I... I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, maybe you should think about it. I tell you what, I'll go into the gym now, so you can give her the check when she comes. Just, do whatever you think is best. She seems like a nice girl."

He didn't quite know what to say to that, so he nodded. Remembering the way his father initially reacted to Gabriella, Troy found it just a little weird that his dad seemed so gung-ho about Sharpay. And then, there was the whole added level of confusion because he really didn't know whether he liked the idea of liking someone his father liked.

Head swirling, he ignored his dad's advice and decided not to think about it. Instead, he turned his attention back to the computer and focused on making this resume the best possible. He'd gotten so far, he didn't want his ineptness to hinder Sharpay's future now that he was in the home stretch.

He continued on and on and on and then finally sent the document, when he was satisfied it was spell-checked and complete, to the dozen or so agents he'd contacted already. He allowed himself a few moments of pride before suddenly stopping and looking around the office. It was quiet, and it seemed funny to him that he noticed at all.

That was when he saw the clock at the bottom of the screen, reading 4:44. The Wildcats didn't have a game until next week, so today's practice was only set to be an hour at most, meaning it had ended around fourteen minutes ago. Realizing he must have subconsciously become accustomed to the slamming of lockers and shouting voices that accompanied the team members after practice, it was no longer a shock that the tranquility became unnerving. Troy figured his dad was still in the gym putting away basketballs and locking the place up, so he decided to shut the computer down and go find Sharpay himself, since he was getting just a tad antsy waiting for her.

He grabbed the check from the top left drawer, making sure to put it in a different pocket than the ones once again holding Darbus's stolen programs, and made his way into the halls. His heart swelled, the beginnings of a smile quirking his lips, as he saw Sharpay leaning against the wall next to the locker room entrance; but, he soon realized, she wasn't alone and that hope he built up promptly came crashing around him, like waves rough enough to knock him clean over.

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**a/n: **_Hello all. It's been quite awhile, huh? I apologize for that, I do. (I really, really do.) I can't even begin to list all of the craziness that's occurred over the past few months, nor do I want to, but just know that there was a lot. And honestly, it's been really hard trying to step into the HSM world after living in the real world for so long. I haven't been in the right place to write the eternally cheerful Noah, or in the mood to transcribe quips between Sharpay and Troy. When I started this story I was a bit proud, because I thought it was going to be so much more mature than my previous attempts at writing, but looking at the past chapters erases any of those thoughts. I want to scrap the entire story and start over, but I don't have the time or patience for that. I don't think this story will ever tell itself the way it was meant to._

_I made a promise to myself when I started this account, though. I've had previous ones on this website that have stories from various genres collecting dust that will never ever see the light of day again (for good reason) but I promised myself this time I would leave nothing unfinished. I'm scared as hell because I'm going away to college in August, and it's coming far too soon for me to get everything in my life in order. This is just one of those things. I want to finish this up before I'm gone, because who knows when, or if, I'll be able to post anything then._

_Thank you to those who have stuck with this and, more importantly, with me. Seriously, your support means everything. This is only being completed for you guys, if you're still out there. Also, I'm sorry I haven't responded to my recent reviews, I'm usually a stickler about doing it (even if it is a simple "Thank you"), but I barely ever check the email address this is connected to, so I was largely unaware there even were any. I'll say it here, though: THANK YOU to every reviewer I've never said it to. You're all amazing._

_I hope you liked the chapter, and it wasn't as disconnected from the rest as I feel it was. Another reason why it took so long is, as it's a filler, this chapter wasn't so much fun to write (which is why it's pretty short compared to the last few). I'm a bit more excited about what's coming up, though, so hopefully it'll be a bit easier to write and come out quicker._

_Hasta luego, friends _: )

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chapter title/lyrics credit: dancing in the dark - i'm not entirely sure who to credit for this, as i'm getting a bunch of different artists. could be dj cammy or dj zitkus or micky modelle ft. jessy. if anyone has an idea, feel free to let me know.


	15. Baby I Said Fight, Fight!

_maybe we need some time alone to regroup, and apply all the laws of attraction.  
(baby, we need some time.)_

_- -_

He couldn't even run. He hated it: he couldn't even run, though he desperately needed to. The ache in his chest wouldn't subside, and it was like a bullet had torn through his flesh.

Though, he figured that might have hurt a little less than a knife in between his shoulder blades.

Out of all the people that could have been pressing Sharpay up against a wall, it really just had to be Charlie motherfucking Duncan; of all the obnoxious pricks that went to East High, it couldn't be anyone but Charlie thieving Duncan with his tongue down her throat. Because, when he thought about it, it made all the sense in the world... after all, the guy did manage to steal both his girlfriend and his game, so really, what difference did a crush make?

Duncan, though, and all of his sliminess was to be expected. Troy had known from day one exactly what type of person he was, and he never disappointed. It was Sharpay that threw him. Just weeks ago she had fixed herself in his life after proclaiming how worthless his other friends were. She knew how much they had all hurt him by deserting him when he needed them the most. On their return flight just days ago, she was his sole confidante, intently listening as he admitted what he really felt when he saw Gabriella and Charlie in the hallway that day. But there she was, going behind his back to do the very same thing.

When he actually took the time to think about it, he supposed he should have been less surprised than he was. Her blatant personality transformation, though a bit off-putting at first, was inherently accepted because he wanted so desperately to believe that he had at least one ally in such a bitter, vicious war. As usual, he was proven incredibly wrong.

Troy bit his lip and shook away the hair in his face before fixing a mask of indifference and readying himself to leave the school. He had a childish urge to slam the door behind him, to alert the two of them to his presence, but he knew that it wouldn't help much, only provide a temporary satisfaction. No, no, he'd leave this one up to Karma, because it had a much more potent way of dealing with liars.

He expected cliche, for the weather to cry pathetic fallacy in the form of pounding rain and raging winds. The sun, however, remained fixed in the sky; for some reason he couldn't place, it reminded him of third grade, when everyone used to put sunglasses and smiles on their versions of a yellow blob. Crisp autumn air nipped at his cheeks as he sat on a curb in front of the school, but everything else was calm.

"Troy?" his father eventually called. It could have been seconds later, or even hours, he'd lost his grasp on time. "I've been looking for you. What are you doing out here?"

"Sorry, dad," he apologized woodenly. "I didn't mean to leave, I just couldn't stay in there anymore."

His father laughed genially and held out a hand to help him up. "That's understandable. Even I sometimes wonder how it is the locker room smells the same every day, even though the janitors are constantly cleaning it."

Troy attempted a smile, but failed miserably.

"So, anyway," his father continued with a shake of the head, perhaps picking up on his son's sour mood. "Did you see Sharpay? How did things go?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Troy? Did something happen?"

Troy glared, "You have no idea."

"What's happened, son? You can tell me."

"Maybe I don't want to fucking tell you! Huh, ever think of that one?"

"Hey, calm down. Don't take your anger out on me, Troy. I thought we'd talked about this."

Troy sighed, coming to a stop and letting go of one crutch to wearily run a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry dad, I know you didn't mean anything by it, and I'm sorry I snapped. It's not your fault, I just... I need some time. I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Okay. Let's go home, then. I can almost hear your mother's roast beef calling to me from here."

Troy tried to stay calm, he did, really, it was just extremely difficult. Just when he'd thought he had some semblance of self-control and self-adjustment, all of this bullshit had to come out of the woodwork to test his boundaries. It wasn't fair, if he was being honest with himself.

Breathing in deep, he tried to control his inner self (or some other nonsense he'd seen on a YouTube video). He didn't want to become a monster again; didn't ever want to see that look of absolutely unadulterated fury his eyes held not so long ago. Maybe, if he got back to thinking about karma, this was all some kind of cosmic test. He'd never considered himself big into astrology (or alternate religions, for that matter), but hell, he'd try anything once, especially if it was going to help him out of his funk.

If he thought about it that way, though, it made sense. It wasn't like he was the only person in the world to experience hardship. (Sure, maybe sometimes it was all too easy to give into teenage angst and forget about that key fact, but maybe it was time he started acknowledging it.) He was sure he wasn't the first kid to get caught up in his own drama, just like he was sure he wouldn't be the last. When looking at it objectively, everything he'd gone through lately had left an enormous imprint on him. Whether or not it was for the better was certainly still up the air, but it changed him. And maybe, just maybe, that's what life was really all about.

It seemed weird, to get this sudden burst of enlightenment as he sat at the dining room table and shoveled dead animal into his mouth, but he wasn't complaining. He was still angry, sure, but dwelling on it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Besides, sitting and feeling sorry for himself--or worse, being a bit more proactive about his anger--would get him nowhere. Succumbing to them, to _those people_, gave them the upper hand, and he was having none of that.

For the first time in a long time he actually listened to the conversation going on around him--heard what his parents were saying and took part in a real discussion. Laughter rang throughout the room, accompanied by the clinks and clanks of utensils and glasses, and Troy couldn't help the surge of warmth that ran through him. He missed this--missed being a part of his own family--and when his mother asked him how his day went, he was honest.

xxx

When he awoke the next morning, Troy was at ease for what felt like the first time in his life. If he tried hard enough, he could forget the things that made him angry, and shift his focus instead to being a new Troy Bolton, a _better_ Troy Bolton. And really, the future looked promising, despite all of its obstacles.

With both of his parents at work, and nothing better to do with his time, he began doing the quickly accumulating mountain of make-up homework. And, yeah, he was just a _little bit_ annoyed at himself for missing so much school lately, when he knew how hard it was to get all of his work together. But hey, c'est la vie, and all that; besides, the English wasn't that hard, as they'd moved past poetry and onto a new novel, and all of his other classwork seemed easier once he reviewed the notes provided to him.

In just a couple of hours the once bulging pile of notebooks and textbooks was joined by a neat pile of handwritten work. Still feeling a surge of energy within him, Troy grabbed his crutches and began cleaning the room that'd he'd neglected again. Cleaning wasn't the easiest without constant, full use of his hands and arms, but he made due. In fact, he was balancing a basket of laundry fresh from the dryer, hopping back to his room on one leg, when his father got home.

"Troy." He smiled. "It's nice to see you up and moving."

Troy put the basket down and maintained balance against the wall. "Yeah, I got a little bored."

"You know, I was having a conversation with Mr. Matsui about the progress you've been making lately, and I think he's ready to let you back into school."

"Really?" He didn't expect the shock of excitement that ran through him. "That sounds great."

"Good. I'll pick you up during lunch tomorrow and you can stop in and have a chat with him. After that everything should be okay."

Troy nodded, picked up his basket, and made his way back to his room. Just as he sat himself next to the basket on his bed, preparing to fold the clothes within, two knocks sounded on his door and his father stepped in.

"Sorry, I almost forgot that there was something else I wanted to ask you."

"What's that?" Troy questioned, more nervous than he let on.

"I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but you still never told me what happened between you and Sharpay yesterday."

If asked, Troy would swear that the way his hands clenched to fists was involuntary. "I guess I just... I found out she wasn't who I thought she was. What it all came down to is she's just like everyone else."

"Did you two get into a fight?"

"No."

"Does she know you're mad at her?"

"No."

"I figured as much. She stopped by my office today and said she had come by yesterday, but we'd already left. I wasn't sure how we could have missed her."

"Did you give her the check?"

"No. Check your pants from yesterday, I'm pretty sure you still have it."

Troy sifted through the pile of darks until he found yesterdays jeans, reached in the left pocket and found the check.

"Oops."

"I don't want to push you, Troy, but why don't you bring that over to her? See if you can talk, work through your problems. It can't be as bad as you think it is."

Troy shrugged. "I'm not too sure about that."

"Be ready to leave in ten. I'll drive you over there. Trust me, Troy, you don't want to leave things uncertain between the two of you. If you're mad, I'm sure you have reason, but you should probably let Sharpay know why that is."

"Okay," he relented, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'll be down soon."

He could feel the emotions spark within him once more, but in an effort to suppress them, he continued calmly folding his clothes. Halves, quarters, eighths, sorted by type, all spread across his bed until there was barely any room for him to sit any more. His father's car sounded in the driveway, alerting him to the fact that he should be going, so with one last deep breath he grabbed the check and made his way downstairs.

It felt like facing his doom. Perhaps he was being a little melodramatic, but he couldn't help himself. The zen Troy Bolton was a new development, unready to be tested, especially so viciously. (He was sure Sharpay Evans could make a monk spit expletives like a truck driver in no time.)

Pulling into the Evans' half-circle driveway, Troy tried to let his father's grin and "good luck" give him comfort, but it was to no avail. There was no way he was ready for this. Absolutely no way in hell that he could remain calm when the mere thought of her was enough to send his mind into a frenzy.

Unfortunately enough, neither Mrs. Evans nor Mr. Evans answered the door. After ringing the doorbell thrice, an energetic redhead that Troy vaguely recalled as being Ryan's girlfriend threw the door open. Without saying a word, she tilted her head and examined him toe-to-head, then shrugged and walked away.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation, but being that she left the door open, he figured he might as well go in and get this over with. Continuing his deep breathing exercises all the way to Sharpay's room helped slightly, but when he saw that bright pink door he began having second thoughts. Before they were enough to drive him running back to the car (despite his ACL), he knocked rapidly on the painted wood.

"Come in!" Sharpay's voice called out. For the first time in awhile it sounded nothing but shrill to him.

Cautiously, he shuffled in and saw her splayed across her bed, magazine held up in front of her.

"Oh! Hey Troy, what's up?"

"Nothing," he said quite monotonously. "I just came to give you the check. I guess you missed me yesterday."

"Yeah, I guess." She tilted her head. "I'm not really sure how, though, since I was right outside the gym."

Troy scoffed. "It sure is a mystery."

Placing her magazine on the thick duvet, Sharpay swung her legs over the bed and stood before him. He swallowed nervously.

"Are you okay, Troy? You seem a little... I don't know, mad? Sad? Something."

"I'm fine. Here, just take the check. I really have to go."

She took it from his outstretched hands. "You don't want to hang out for a bit? I haven't seen you in a couple days."

"Honestly Sharpay, I can't even be in the same room as you right now. Tell your parents thanks for everything, but I really do have to go."

"Whoa whoa whoa. What's wrong with you? What did I do to you?"

"I'm not stupid. Don't fucking stand there and act innocent, like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"But I don't!" she said in response, voice rising dangerously.

"So you're going to deny that you made out with Charlie Duncan?"

She froze all motion, even her heart seemed to stop beating. "Troy, it wasn't what it--"

"Save the shit, you fucking slut." So much for zen and balance and breathing. He'd tried, he really did, but there was way too much anger coursing through his veins to stay bottled.

"EXCUSE ME?" she roared.

His eyes were cold and dark as he stared at her. "You heard me."

He raised a hand to cover his quickly reddening cheek, right where a Sharpay-sized hand print was forming. She had never slapped someone before, but he deserved it. "Don't ever talk to me again, Bolton."

He laughed shortly at her use of his last name. "Never again would be too soon, _Evans_."

Just as he was exiting the room she spat out, "You like to think you're so different from them, don't you? What, because you've hurt your poor little knee now you know what it's like to be an outsider? Newsflash Troy, you're just like every single one of them."

And with those words she made her grand exit, stage right. He shouldn't have expected anything less.

But even though he was angry at her, he had to admire her tenacity, her unyielding dramatic flair. So preoccupied--as always--with the scene's overall design, it didn't even seem to phase her that she was walking out of her own room. Heaving a dramatic sigh of his own, Troy left the Evans' home to sit through a very silent car-ride.

He couldn't bring himself to care, or to find any meaning in what she'd said. She was so wrong, about everything, and he was over it. There were some people who changed themselves as they saw the world, but she wasn't one of them; passing judgement was Sharpay Evans' favorite pastime, so he wasn't about to take anything she said to heart. Besides, he'd be back in school soon, he didn't need her half-assed pity anymore.

When he got home, he went immediately to his room and passed out on his bed, thoroughly exhausted.

xxx

Sitting in the slightly worn chair, staring at the gleaming name plate before him, Troy was struck with the unsettling feeling of déjà vu. It hadn't been too long ago that he sat in the same seat in the same spot with similar feelings of dread and anxiety coursing his veins. So much had happened since he last sat here, though, and he supposed that was what made all the difference.

Letting his gaze wander from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, he spotted a file folder sitting out on the desk in front of him. It was partially covered by that day's edition of the _Albuquerque Journal_, but the name "Bolton, Troy" was clearly discernible. His hands shook slightly; it couldn't really be his permanent record, could it? It was certainly thick enough, but how could Matsui just leave it out in the open like that? Didn't the principal fear said subject would get a little snoop happy?

Then again, this was Troy Bolton. The faculty would probably leave him unsupervised with the Prom Committee's cash box and expect he'd do nothing but whistle while he waited. His fingers nearly itched to grab hold of it, to see what had been written about him B.I. Were they worried? Did they now know he helped plan that prank against Duncan? He would be applying to college soon, he had a right to be worried about what his recommendations would look like. (At least, that's how he rationalized it in his head.)

He had sat fully forward, fingers poised to brush the newspaper to the side when he realized he was doing nothing but making excuses for himself. He'd tried rebellion--he'd had alcohol and marijuana and gotten into fights--but it didn't taste as sweet as he thought it would. None of that was the real Troy Bolton. He had limits, he knew, like everyone else, but he also had morals.

He fell back into the chair with a sigh.

Maybe it was a good thing to get his conscience back at that moment, because not thirty seconds later Principal Matsui strolled through the doorway.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, Troy."

Troy turned at the sound of his Principal's voice. "Oh, it's no problem, Mr. Matsui."

The typical Q&A followed. (How are you doing? Oh, fine, sir, thanks for asking.) Troy took the asinine questions in stride, though, because at least he was prepared for these ones. His palms began sweating in anticipation of the questions concerning his fight with Chad. Those, well they were a little more personal, a little more psychologically-produced.

"Well, Troy, thanks for catching up with me. I'll see you in school tomorrow, then?"

Troy raised his eyebrows. "Tomorrow? Um, okay."

To say he wasn't expecting that was an understatement. There was no inquisition--no demands of the how or why--just idle chit chat. Troy wasn't a conspiracy theorist, wasn't paranoid, but he couldn't help but think this weird treatment was why he (and the rest of the Wildcats, at that) didn't worry about the consequences. His _best friend_ had him against a locker in plain sight of the entire school, and neither of them had seemed at all concerned about suspension, or even expulsion, though fighting (especially on school grounds) definitely warranted it.

Well, maybe he'd take to calling the principal "Boss" Matsui of the corrupt East High Machine.

xxx

_Steady, steady, steady,_ was the mantra repeating in his head. One foot after another and he was already a good mile or so from his house. But he wasn't there just yet, so he prayed for a miracle and plowed on.

East High was lit up just as it was for every other basketball game he remembered. The glow spilled out onto the dark night, painting the black pavement with a splash of yellow and his heart started beating like mad. The game had already began, he knew, but he wasn't particularly in the mood for small talk and had the foresight to stall himself purposely to prevent it. He heard the squeaking of sneakers on the gym floor and his mind filled with the images of himself out there. Maybe, just maybe, he would be out there soon, mesmerizing the crowd with his jump shot. His desire was palpable.

Throngs of people packed the room, filling the bleachers and trickling out into the hallway, but they were all faces unfamiliar. He scanned the room, desperate for anything to assure him that he was in the right place--one glance of a bedazzled Sidekick or a mass of dark curled hair or a signature hat or a rolling book bag. There was none.

Noah and Sharpay weren't at their table front-and-center, rather three weasely looking kids were crushed against each other and fighting for control over the mic. The court was void of the players he'd trained with since elementary school, the crowd missing any semblance of a familiar classmate. If the basketball players hadn't been wearing the red and white Wildcats jerseys he might have thought he was in the wrong school.

A jersey encased in glass, back proudly displaying outwards, hung on the wall--though loomed seemed like a better word. It screamed at him: failure, has-been, never-was. It said _Duncan _on the back.

When had time sped up, he wondered. When had he become the ghost of a little boy listening to the echoes of what might have been his future?

The room started spinning, the colors blurring, and eventually it shattered. All that was left were shards in his hand.

He squeezed them tight, watching apathetically as crimson slid down his hand.

Then he awoke. The birds were singing outside of his window, and light seeped in through gaps in the blinds. He sat still and listened intently, wondering what exactly the loud gasping sound in his room was. He felt his chest, and realized it was himself. His breath was coming out in heavy pants, and his heart was pulsing wildly. He found it sort of funny that he felt genuine fear in the morning of such a bright and sunny day.

Maybe he could lie to himself, but that didn't mean he would believe any of it.

_

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_**a/n:**_ Some Sophi-lific words of advice: Troy's decision to leave things up to karma? Yeah, it works, trust me. You should all do the same when the time comes. Funny thing is, karma screws the other person over twice as much. It's quite fun to watch _:] _I mean, you might _think _you've got the absolute ultimate plan of revenge, but trust me, Karma's will always win. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, on more than one occasion._

_Anyways, I took a bit of a break to go on college visits, fill out scholarship crap, take APs, and of course go to the amazingness that is Bamboozle, but I'm baaaack again. Next chapter should be up relatively quickly. As in, whenever inspiration strikes._

_Review if you'd like, darlings. I love hearing from you _: )

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chapter title/lyrics credit: baby i said fight, fight! - saving litchfield


	16. The Words Best Friends Become Redefined

Chapter dedicated to LoveandSerenity for her kind words, and for inspiring me to sit down and finish this :)

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_throats raw from screaming and i haven't said a word...  
the sky is calling, and the stars, they point to this._

- -

Troy wasn't sure what to expect when he first set crutch inside East High again. With all of his recent scandal, he learned that the only way to prepare for this kind of thing was to expect the unexpected. However, of all the probable scenes he'd rehearsed in the shower that morning, his current situation was so far from unexpected it verged on impossible.

As he made his way down the hallway, heads would turn every few people or so. It was nothing new, of course, other than the encouraging looks on his classmates' faces. Then Chad appeared--undoubtedly heading to the first period class they shared--and the looks turned from pity to disgust, but they weren't aimed at Troy. Though his caramel complexion did a good job of hiding it, Troy knew from the downturn of Chad's head that he was fighting an embarrassed flush. As they passed each other, Chad never looked up.

Troy's surprise was not unfounded. Chad was never one to back down from an adversary. Ever. If he had a problem with someone, that person knew about it. Even the most menial daily tasks, like stopping at his locker to get books, distracted him from the problem at hand, because it was too complex to work out. There were the metaphorical tables, lying on the floor upside down. They'd turned, though he didn't know when, and now he was accepted while Chad was shunned. It really, really didn't make an ounce of sense.

Squaring his shoulders as much as he could while on crutches, Troy entered the economics classroom. And there they were again: those damned disarming, _friendly_, smiles. Anger and confusion he could deal with, he'd adapted to it, but this was new and vaguely frightening.

"Oh, Troy! Why don't you sit over here?"

Troy tried to put on a thankful smile, but he was still a bit uneasy. (Although, the girl who'd called to him could be no more than 5'4" and wore a snug fitting cheerleading uniform. Not exactly the definition of scary.) Cindi Brakewood smiled wider and moved her very large bag off of the desk next to her. Somewhere deep inside of him he prayed she hadn't been saving it for him, because if there was one thing he was okay with losing it was the slightly obsessive hangers-on.

"Hey Troy! How are you?"

"I'm... um. I'm okay, I guess."

"That's good. You're not too bruised up from your fight with Chad, are you?"

"No, no, I'm healing fine." He smiled internally at the opening. "But hey, speaking of Chad, what's up with everyone? It seems like they're mad at him."

"Well duh! Of course they are!" she shouted, glossed lips upturned and thin eyebrows raised. "He picked a fight with a kid on crutches. How exactly _should_ we react to that?"

To her credit, Troy was stumped. Whenever he thought of the fight it was between him and Chad. The crutches were never a factor.

"Okay, but I mean, even I admit I kind of had it coming. I've kind of been an asshole lately, especially to him."

"We're all on your side Troy, don't worry." The way she smiled consolingly at him and patted his arm made him feel quite young. The discomfort was traveling through every fiber of his being, and he just wanted her to go away. "Besides, it's not like he's got a lot going for him at the moment. There's the fight with you, the fact that he cheated on his girlfriend by blowing Charlie Duncan in the locker room--"

"Wait, what?" he couldn't help but interrupt. He winced slightly at the way his voice cracked with the question.

"Oh my God!" Cindi exclaimed dramatically, complete with hands raised to cover her gasping lips. "I can't believe you didn't know!"

"Um, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, but Chad isn't like that. He's not gay."

"I'm sorry, Troy. I know he was your best friend and all, but it's true. Charlie was dating Ryan Evans--who everyone's known was gay since, like, the second grade--but Ryan broke up with him because he was cheating on him with a bunch of guys from the basketball team. Apparently it was like some sort of initiation after you left: suck, and start."

Troy's eyes bulged. "Wow," was the only word he could manage to stutter out. He'd practically forgotten about that video thing, it all seemed so long ago.

"I know, right? It's all so sordid, very _As the World Turns_. Were you not here for that whole videotape-in-the-hallway thing? Perez Hilton material."

Well, shit. Humiliating his former teammates had been a last minute addition to that plan, so Troy was torn between finding it both amusing and disturbing. Now that all was said and done, however, he felt slightly guilty about falsifying evidence concerning his old friends. Assholes or not, he wasn't sure they deserved to be dragged into the trenches of his War on Duncan.

"So what does Taylor have to say about these rumors?" he asked.

"Oh, they've been broken up for a little while now. Since the day you and Chad got into that fight, actually. I guess it's why he got off so easy on his punishment."

Crap. That load of guilt increased tenfold. He knew firsthand how stressful relationships could be, but he'd just added to that for Chad and Taylor with his short-sighted quest for vengeance.

"Look, Cindi, I know what the situation seems like, but that's not the truth." His nerves began to fray in anticipation, sweating palms and twitching eyes. "I'm friends with Ryan, so I know the whole story. The people he was referring to were Charlie's teammates at his old school. Ryan and Charlie, um, they _dated_ before Charlie moved here."

Cindi repeated her actions from earlier--eyes wide, mouth gaped, hands covering it--with a drawn out "Oh my God!"

Troy shrugged in attempted nonchalance.

"I can't believe that! I can't believe we all jumped to conclusions and yelled at Chad! I mean, it just figures he would be the most likely candidate, you know, since he's gotten so much more playing time since Charlie's been captain."

Troy mulled it over briefly. "Well, they've always worked good together. I had Chad train Charlie when he started here, I guess he decided to stick to someone he's more comfortable with to feed him shots."

"Oh fuck. I'm really glad you're okay, Troy, but I've got to go now. I really need to go find Taylor!"

With the swish of her pleated skirt, Cindi Brakewood was running past their confused economics teacher. Feeling eyes on him, Troy turned his head to find Chad's gaze intent on him from across the room. The absolute smallest of smiles quirked one side of Chad's lips, and he inclined his head in a thankful fashion. Troy nodded back. After all, it was the least he could do.

- -

The rest of the day passed relatively swiftly. Troy still got pitying glances and reassuring smiles, but only a few brave souls actually ventured close enough to ask questions or strike conversations. If asked, he wouldn't say his spirits were particularly high, but he was far from the torturous bad moods school had brought him the past few weeks. Well, until he reached sixth period English, that is.

Just as he'd been able to sense Chad's gaze earlier, he immediately felt eyes on him as he entered the classroom. Sharpay sat at her desk glaring daggers, dark brown eyes like a machete's blade. As their eyes met, she rolled hers at him. Well then, it seemed the Bitch was back. Clearly it was only a matter of time. (_Clearly_.)

The entire period the anger and frostiness emanating from the blonde was palpable. Coupled with Ms. Goodwin's already overwhelming acidity, the environment was nearly strangling. Forty minutes had absolutely never lasted that long, and he was sure that if he checked his body temperature it would be a good few degrees lower than it had been that morning.

Sharpay's inability to let her grudges simply exist (or die, even) only served to annoy Troy more. If anything, it reinforced his theory of her pretending to be a lot more mature than she really was. Needless to say, in light of recent events, he was in no hurry to talk out their problems. More and more he was coming to see that her friendship was something he could live without.

"Hey, Troy," a rather subdued voice called to him and distracted his thoughts. "Can we talk?"

Troy broke through the fog of his daydreams and noticed Chad standing before him, hands in his pockets and looking far too meek. "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Mind if we go to your spot? I kind of want this to be private."

"Yeah man, whatever."

Troy struggled to swallow the nerves in his throat, but he couldn't help notice the way Chad's spirits seemed to literally lighten with his acceptance. "Great, thanks."

They walked in silence to the school's rooftop garden, and Chad motioned Troy to enter first. A few months back, when everything was still fine and dandy and drama-free, all of their friends had caught onto Troy and Gabriella's secret spot. With something akin to nostalgia, he fondly recalled the days when the worst thing he had to worry about was when and where to squeeze in alone time with his girlfriend.

"So," Chad began, none-too-eloquently, as they sat on opposite sides of the room. Chad was wringing his hands in his lap, which Troy knew to be one of his nervous habits. The two boys had been through so much over the years and were once so close that their discomfort with each other felt both foreign and entirely unnecessary.

"So," Troy echoed.

"Well, I guess I should thank you for clearing up that whole Charlie thing. Me and Taylor are back together, and people have stopped looking at me like some freak."

Troy nodded. "I'm glad. Though, I should probably tell you I helped start the problem in the first place."

Chad sighed, but nodded all the same. "I figured, but I kind of wanted to be wrong. But I see Ryan out with his girlfriend all the time, so it seemed a little weird he'd randomly try to sabotage Charlie."

Troy shrugged. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I never meant to cause problems for you and Taylor. I guess I didn't really think things through."

"You've always been kind of impulsive. I guess I could forgive you for that." Chad grinned. "I probably would've done the same thing."

Silence quickly captured them. For the first time since he woke at the hospital, Troy missed Chad. Once they were the ultimate pair, an unstoppable team; once they were best friends, and the awkward turtle never managed to creep into their thoughts or conversations or actions. It was frustrating, being right there and unable to express everything he was feeling. He hated himself for being the cause of it, and he hated Chad for making him think he had to. But fucking hell, he wanted his friend back. He felt weird thinking it, after all the crap he had to deal with, but it was true. It all seemed so stupid now, in hindsight. If they had worked out their problems in the beginning none of this would be happening.

For this reason, he was eternally grateful when Chad admitted, "So, there's a bigger picture here, isn't there?"

"Yeah," Troy agreed. "There is."

"Well then," Chad trailed off slightly. He seemed a bit surprised Troy had so easily acceded. "You feel like explaining what happened? One minute we're best friends, the next we're not even speaking. I don't get it, man."

Honestly, no, Troy didn't want to explain it. Despite his frustration for their current predicament and his wish for normality, the pain was still there, as was his pride. Chad not being there for him hurt, but he didn't want to admit it. Even so, the fact that Chad still seemed oblivious to what he did was staggering.

Troy let out a deep breath. "It's not so much what happened as it is what didn't."

"What?"

Figuring subtlety had no place in a conversation with Chad Danforth, Troy went for blunt instead. "Where were you when I was in the hospital? Why weren't you there? Why didn't you visit?" Troy closed his eyes tightly. He really hated this. "Didn't you care?"

"Fuck Troy, of course I did! I always have, and I always will. It's just... fuck, it's not that easy."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't... I don't know. It's just... hard to explain."

"You need to try, Chad. We're not gonna get anywhere if you don't."

"You want to know the truth?"

"Yeah. I think that'd be a nice change."

"Fine. The truth is, I was scared. Okay? _I_ was _scared_. I'm Chad Danforth, man, I don't_ get _scared. I can sit through a marathon of horror movies and not even wince. But put me back in that hallway looking through that window and I'll have to cover my eyes," he admitted in a low voice, full of pent-up emotion. "I didn't even have to find your parents or a doctor to tell me. Because I looked at you, and I _knew_ that was it. I knew that you wouldn't play basketball again. And I knew you'd never be the same Troy Bolton who's been my best friend since preschool."

Troy sighed. "I'm not gonna lie, not anymore. I won't say it's okay, because it isn't, but at least I know now. I think, the only way we're going to be able to move on is by, I don't know, ignoring this."

"Can you really do that?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think I really have a choice, though. Dwelling on this obviously hasn't helped any. I don't know, I guess we just have to look at this, remember it and what happened, but leave it as a part of our past."

Chad nodded. "Okay. That sounds fair."

"Good."

"What about the rest of the team?" Chad asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember what you told us all during team bonding sophomore year? You gave us this sappy ass Yogi Berra quote. You said 'When you're part of a team, you stand up for your teammates. Your loyalty is to them. You protect them through the good and the bad'--"

"'Because they'd do the same for you," Troy finished quietly.

"Exactly. I don't care how sappy the quote is, because you believed it, and that's what's important. Where did _that _guy go? Where's that Troy Bolton that lived and breathed for his team, because they were more than just a team, they were family."

"Honestly, Chad... sometimes I wonder if he's gone forever."

Chad laughed. "Stop it, Troy. We both know that's not true. You're being ridiculous. You're gonna get over this, all of it. But everyone misses you. They've been without their captain for weeks. We're still not used to you not being there."

"Yeah well, neither am I."

"Just because Charlie's in your position doesn't mean you had to forfeit your post as captain, too. We could use you. Our offense has been slacking since you left."

Troy felt a little stupid, a lot ridiculous, and seriously oblivious. Being an invisible part of the team had never crossed his mind. "Maybe I'll stop by practice today, then."

Chad nodded, a small smile on his face. They sat in silence for a few seconds longer, in which Troy thought about everything that had just happened. Maybe all of the emotions were getting to him, but he started laughing. As tears began coming to the corners of his eyes, Chad raised his brows in alarm.

"Are you okay, bro?"

"Dammit Chad," he said, though he had to pause to catch his breath. "Don't you think you could have fucking told me all of that a few weeks ago?"

Chad's smile returned, and he shook his head in seeming disbelief. "Would it really have made a difference?"

"Yeah it would! I probably wouldn't have done half the shit I did."

"Really?" he questioned with the raise of his eyebrows. Troy had been enjoying himself, but it seemed like they were back to the somber tone of conversation and he had no one but himself to blame.

He was about to say _yes, it would have made a difference you dumbass,_ when all at once old feelings of regret, hurt, anger, and betrayal flit through him. He realized then, it wouldn't have mattered what the excuse was, he'd have been too stubborn and too angry to believe anything Chad had told him.

"I really am sorry, Troy. That's all I can keep saying, but it seems like I can't say it enough."

Troy stood and made his way across the room. "You really do have the worst timing _ever_."

Chad's face lit with a beaming smile as realization dawned in his brown eyes. Troy stuck out a hand to shake, and his reinstated best friend mumbled a "Fuck that," instead pulling him into a hug. And as they gripped each other awkwardly, as boys are prone to do in sappy situations, Troy realized there was something missing.

When they pulled away, he knew Chad felt it too. They knew that this didn't magically heal things. Words had been thoughtlessly tossed out, ones that could never be taken back, and at one point, though he'd moved past it, he had been hurt by someone who swore to always be there for him.

They nodded at each other in understanding. "For what it's worth, man, I never liked Charlie more than you."

"For what it's worth, same here," Troy cracked with a smile. He knew that, in time, it was a possibility the two of them could regain what it took so quickly to lose. And it would never be like it was before, but maybe, just maybe, it could be even better.

- -

When Troy entered the school gym, it wasn't to the sounds of shouted directions or laughter. Rather, the team was split into two for a scrimmage-like match; it looked like game night rather than after school practice. As he made his way closer, a whistle sounded and the players stopped, some looking confused while others looked grateful for the distraction as they chugged Gatorade.

"Well, well, well, the prodigal captain has returned," Duncan mocked from his place center court.

The gym filled with awkward, tense silence for a few moments. Everyone was frozen in place, as if one sound would set either their former or current captain off.

That was, until Jason put down his water bottle and said, "Shut up, Charlie." He and Zeke chuckled as they made their way over to Troy, tossing greetings at him and patting him on the back.

"What's up Troy?" Zeke asked.

He didn't even get a chance to respond before Duncan cut in with, "Yes Troy, what's so important that you had to interrupt practice? We've got a game Friday night, in case you forgot."

Troy smiled smoothly, amiably, and he got a kick out of the taken aback look on Duncan's face. "That's actually why I'm here. I have an announcement to make to the team."

With his words the rest of the Wildcats finished what they were doing and quieted down, looking on with rapt attention as he prepared to speak again. It felt good that they still cared, even a little bit, and that they could still respect him enough to listen even after he'd unintentionally deserted them.

"I've been doing some thinking lately, some soul-searching if you will." He laughed nervously, but was encouraged to continue by a few small smiles. "It was stupid of me to completely leave the team even though I'm out on medical. You guys, well, you're my boys. I shouldn't have disappeared like that. So, I'm here now to resume my post as captain. Thanks, Charlie, for taking over while I was gone, but I've got it from here."

It was hard to choke out some semblance of niceties when the thought of Duncan--especially with his tongue down Sharpay's throat--made him physically ill, but he was able to ignore it easy enough as Chad led the team into loud cat-calling and cheers and enthusiastic "Welcome backs."

"Wildcats! Why aren't you practicing?" his father's voice came suddenly from the locker room entrance. He looked around until he spotted Troy. "Oh, Troy. What are you doing here?"

"I'm back as captain, that is, if the team will have me back." He smiled larger than he could remember ever doing as the team started up their shouting and cheers again.

"That's good to hear. Thirty more seconds of celebration, and then I want you guys back on task. We need to be ready for the Anderson game."

Troy spent the next two hours alternating between talking strategy with his dad on the bleachers to directing the players from the sidelines. Each time the players passed him--ball dribbling, sneakers squeaking--he felt a familiar rush make its way through him. Watching successful maneuvers and skilled shooting, especially when it came after his advice, felt good. It wasn't anything like playing the game for himself, no feeling could beat that, but for now it was okay. His first rehab appointment was coming up, and he was determined to work like hell during it, because he would be back on this court before the season ended; he would make sure of that.

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**a/n:** _So I was doing a little rereading of the last few chapters when I realized I left some ends of that practical joke/revenge plan left untied. Initially I planned on the other guys from the basketball team playing a bigger role (i.e. their total humiliation as well) but then I guess I got distracted. It's okay, though, I kind of like the way it turned out. Made for a longer Chad/Troy conversation, and all that other bromance loveliness. I think Chad's a bit OOC this chapter, but it's difficult writing him all sappy-like. If you guys have any advice or comments or whatever, feel free to share.  
_

_And omg aw, I love you guys. Seriously. And I love your reactions to the last chapter! Everyone being angry at Sharpay and Charlie made me veryvery happy, because it means that I actually did something right. Am I purposely leading you astray? ...Maybe. lol. Don't worry, all shall become clearer within the next few chapters! Thanks for reading. You guys rock my worldddd. Fer shureee. _

_Happy Friday!_

_(P.S. Long overdue Noah times in the next chapter.)  
_

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chapter title/lyric credit: the words best friends become redefined - chiodos


	17. Rise From the Ashes

**warning:** shortish & choppy.  
fuck my life. i'm sorry, i tried.

* * *

_i'm sitting here making my own rules, and if  
i fall from the ceiling you'll be down there waiting to finish me._

- -

After two full days of school, Troy wasn't entirely sure why he had been in such a rush to get back there. Apparently between bedrest and his suspension he'd forgotten how thoroughly exhausting seven hours of high school could be. There were quizzes and projects and tests and essays all on top of the regular nightly assignments. And then there was the getting called on in class and trying to give the right answer (or at least bullshit something well enough), and the crush of students in the halls, and the waking up at 7 AM and staying until five when practice ended.

So after two days of nonstop go, go, going, Troy would much rather have been taking a nap than getting into his mother's car to be driven about fifteen minutes away to the physical therapy center Dr. Anderson had found for him. At times like this Troy wished he could stomach coffee or energy drinks, because he knew sleeping for the car ride would do nothing but make him more tired once he arrived at the clinic, and he expected he'd definitely need his energy to do whatever it was these appointments required of him.

Red Rock Sports and Physical Therapy was a hard building to miss, it turned out. In between miles of desert, the white building was nearly blinding in the afternoon sun. The sweeping new-age architecture was certainly interesting, and the waiting area looked incredibly cozy; overall, Troy was just grateful that the place wasn't some hole in the wall full of online-certified quacks. As his mother signed him in, he sat on a comfortable chair and flipped restlessly through an issue of _GQ_, barely able to muster enough brain power to do anything more than glance at the pictures. Luckily the wait wasn't long, and just about ten minutes later a woman in an all-black ensemble walked into the room_._ The difference between her black slacks and the shiny white tiles was striking.

"Troy Bolton?" she questioned from the doorway leading out of the waiting room.

Troy raised a hand quickly in reply and got to his feet.

The woman shuffled closer and stuck a hand out. "Hi, Troy, Mrs. Bolton, I'm Dr. Andrea Jacobs." Dr. Jacobs was nothing like the past two doctors he'd seen. She was all warm smiles and cheery inflections, like she was genuinely happy to help. Troy liked her immediately.

"Okay," she said. "So Troy if you don't mind coming back with me we're going to get started on some warm-up exercises today. It's only your first day so I won't push you too hard, we'll just see what point you're at now."

Troy nodded while his mother conversed with the doctor quickly, asking questions about the process. She'd decided to let him go in on his own and while he was grateful, he knew she was struggling with not being directly in the loop.

As he walked down the hall, Troy noticed each room was painted a different color. There was the red room, complete with red furniture, and pictures of roses and an old-fashioned VW Beetle on the wall; similar were the orange, green, yellow, and purple rooms. Luckily, Troy ended up surrounded by a calming sky blue.

Dr. Jacobs, aside from being friendly, was a direct kind of person. Once she was sure he was comfortable, she immediately started with his first regiment, doing demonstrations and providing helpful tips. It wasn't too difficult, he decided after awhile. Sure it burned a bit, like he was using certain muscles for the first time ever, but it wasn't anything unbearable. Maybe it was because it was only the first day, or maybe--_hopefully_--it was just because he'd been psyching himself out and recovery wasn't quite as painful as it seemed it would be. After a few minutes of conversation and explanation, and less than an hour of stretches, Troy was back in his mother's car on his way home. Dr. Jacobs gave him a sheet of the stretches they'd done that day, complete with pictures and step-by-step instructions, so that he could do them at home on his own before the next appointment.

He was already planning a schedule in his head. If he woke up twenty minutes earlier he'd be able to fit in the workout before school started, and if he actually buckled down to do his homework instead of procrastinating like the art was dying, he'd be able to do another before bed. He figured, at this rate, he'd be better in only a couple of weeks. Of course, he had no idea if that was realistic, but it was inconsequential; he'd do as many reps as were necessary to get better.

xxx

"Hey Troy."

Troy paused in the process of putting his books in his locker and hoped that the voice he'd just heard wasn't who he thought it was. For the first time in weeks he was hoping it was Chad coming to harass him at his locker because, at the moment, that option would probably be less awkward.

Troy stepped back a bit and saw a mess of curly dark hair, overly worn-out sneakers and an obscure band tee. Damn, he was right. "Hey Noah."

"I, um, I know things are weird for you and Sharpay right now, but I just wanted you to know that I sent in that stuff you asked me to. I made copies of all the tapes and sent them to the people you told me to. I don't know if you wanted to continue on with finding an agent for Sharpay, but... I thought you should know, just in case someone calls you back."

Everything from the way Noah stood to the way he spoke to the way his eyes wouldn't meet Troy's said he was uncomfortable. Honestly, Troy didn't like it. Besides that brief glimpse of his sentimental side from Darbus's room that day, Troy had never heard him be serious. The personality change was unnerving, especially because he had grown partial to the way the other boy was always so loud and unintentionally funny.

"Oh. I hadn't really thought about that. Thanks for letting me know, I guess."

Noah nodded silently and pocketed his hands in his jeans before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Troy couldn't help but call out. Noah turned back around and he found that he was temporarily blank on what to say. He sighed heavily. "Listen, even though I'm not exactly talking to Sharpay right now, I don't want things to be weird for us. I've had enough of silent friends lately."

Troy tried to throw out a comforting smile but was thrown off guard by Noah's next comment. "Maybe you should stop letting them be silent, then." After a second or two, the weight of his words seemed to sink in and Noah's eyes widened a bit. "I'm sorry. None of that's my business."

"What happened to all that honesty you used to have?"

"This is really, really weird for me. I don't want it to be, Troy, but it is. Sharpay is my best friend, and I like you and all, but if she asked me to stop talking to you, I would."

"Did she?"

"No. She wouldn't do that. She's too stubborn. She doesn't want anyone, even me, to know that what happened between you guys is bothering her. A lot. I don't want to put her in an uncomfortable position, though. And, to be honest, I don't think you should have blown up on her like that."

"No offense Noah, but you weren't there. You didn't see what I saw and you don't know what I'm feeling."

"Maybe not, but I know Sharpay, and I believe her when she says there's more to the story. Maybe you should believe her."

He liked Noah, and he wanted to believe him, it was just hard to consider that there was an alternate explanation to something he'd seen with his very own eyes. What, did Charlie trip and Sharpay's lips end up breaking his fall? Please. Charlie most certainly was not forcing anything on her, because he saw no evidence of a struggle. Really, what feasible prospects were there? He'd just have to accept that even though he considered Noah a friend, his friend--and Sharpay liaison--had gotten it wrong this time.

"I don't know if I can do that. If you know the situation, which I'm assuming you do, then you know she was with Charlie Duncan. I wouldn't have gotten angry if it was anyone else but him. She knows how I feel about him."

"And I know how she feels about you."

It was unintentional, but his heart skipped a beat. "What's that mean?"

Noah shrugged, but looked increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of conversation. "That's something you'll have to ask her. But, like I said, she was really upset with what happened between you guys. Give her a chance to explain. I mean, she gave you one, and you guys got to be pretty good friends. She hasn't trusted someone like that since she met me, and it was really hard for her."

Troy sighed again, sending the longest pieces of hair in his face up into the air. "Okay, okay. I'll, I don't know. I guess I'll think about it. I just, I really need to stop talking about this right now."

Noah finally smiled. "Good looks, dude. I really can't handle this drama. Let's leave that to the experts on the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Although, when I think about it, NeNe is a pretty cool name."

Troy sighed internally as he felt the tension leave the air. He wasn't entirely sure what Noah was talking about, but that was familiar territory. Besides, he was just glad they were back to their normal caliber of conversation.

"Thanks," he said to Noah.

The other boy looked confused. "For what?" He didn't give Troy a chance to reply as he nodded and said, "Oh, I get it. I'm just here for the comic relief."

Troy met Noah's smirk with a laugh.

xxx

"Okay Troy, you can do it," he told himself. Two seconds later, though, realization hit and, "Oh shit. No you can't."

He paused, clutching the support bars around him, and attempted to collect his suddenly fast breathing. Dr. Jacobs seemed to echo his thoughts; not even two seconds into his self-imposed break and she said, "Come on, Troy. You can do it."

The fact that he couldn't flashed through his mind blindingly and bitterly. He'd been seriously kidding himself last week when he said rehab was going to be easy, because this right here was nowhere near it. Those stretches from his last appointment seemed like wading in the kiddie pool compared to being thrown head first into the deep end. It was night and day, the difficulty level he was facing.

"Troy, come on. You can't leave today without finishing up."

"I can't," he said, and he believed that.

"I know it's hard but you have to work through the pain."

Not hard, impossible. He'd been in pain before, even played a whole half of a game with a sprained wrist once, but this was excruciating. There was no "mind over matter" in this situation, because he couldn't focus on anything but the fact that it felt like he was tearing his ACL all over again. This couldn't be healthy, something had to be wrong. Maybe the surgery backfired; maybe his knee hadn't healed enough; maybe he'd overworked himself with doing his previous exercises so many times in a day. Whatever the reason, though, it still came down to the fact that this time he couldn't continue. Part of him felt like a failure, felt like he was giving up far too soon, but a larger part of him real didn't give a damn; there was no way in hell he could deal with this any longer.

"I'm sorry," Troy mumbled, before collapsing into a seated position in the middle of the floor.

Ten minutes later he was back sitting shotgun in his mother's car, head turned to face towards the window so he could escape her questioning eyes.

xxx

When Troy got a text message at 8:59, the last person he'd thought it'd be from was Ryan Evans. But, there was no mistaking his name on the screen, along with the message "meet on corner of chestnut & pine in 15? i need to talk 2u." Not knowing what else to do, he replied back that he would be there. Really, there was nothing else it could be other than to bitch Troy out about mistreating his poor, dear sister. He wasn't entirely up to it, especially after this afternoon, but it was better to get these things out of the way. Besides, maybe he'd get lucky and Ryan could find it in him to understand his feelings of betrayal at seeing Sharpay with Charlie Duncan, since he'd helped them out with their revenge, after all.

So, twelve minutes later he made his way out of the house--stealthily evading his parents in the living room--and down the street. Chestnut Road ran parallel to his street and intersected with Pine Avenue just a few feet away from that, so it wasn't a long journey by any means. In fact, as he took a seat on the curb of the mostly silent street he checked his phone only to find it was 9:15 exactly.

The only thing missing was Ryan.

A minute or two later he heard footsteps approaching from behind, and tried not to tense unnecessarily. Then the figure sat down next to him and it wasn't Ryan at all but Sharpay and his entire body froze.

"Don't leave," she said, reading his body language all right. He was ready to bolt.

"You're not Ryan," he said instead.

"Obviously." She sighed. "I used his phone to text you because I knew you wouldn't meet me if you knew it was, well, _me._"

He remained silent.

"I got an interesting phone call today," she continued, apparently ignoring his resistance. But really? She was here making casual conversation? What the fuck?

He snorted. "Good for you."

"It was from Dr. Jacobs, who's apparently your physical therapist at Red Rock," she went on casually.

"And why exactly would she call you?"

Sharpay shrugged. The funny thing was, their entire conversation was taking place without them looking at each other. "I guess when Dr. Anderson made the arrangements he put down my house number as the contact information, since that was what my dad put down for your hospital stay."

"Oh." He tried to sound disinterested--and it probably worked--but really, his mind was racing.

"Fuck you, Troy." Exasperation and anger tinged her voice and _finally_ they were getting somewhere. He was most certainly not going to sit here and pretend like nothing ever happened. They weren't speaking, and he was just fine with that. (Mostly.) "I'm not here because I want to be. I'm still pissed at you, but I got a phone call today about how you left your appointment today barely halfway through, so I decided maybe I could suck it up and talk some sense into you. I guess that's too much to ask for."

Troy finally chanced a glance over at her. It was pretty dark, and the closest street lamp was feet away, but he could still see Sharpay quite clearly. Her eyes were dark and angry, like he'd seen them so many times before, and her hair was tousled from the nighttime breeze. He hated the lump that formed in his throat.

It took him a few moments to collect himself before Troy could say, "Maybe it is."

She laughed sarcastically and began to stand. "Fine, Troy. Just... _fine_. I'm so glad my dad and your dad wasted their money on a surgery that's not gonna fix anything because you're too stubborn to work through the pain and just get better. It's almost like you _want_ to stay on crutches. But, whatever, I'm done. Just know you're letting a lot of people down."

He stared resolutely ahead until he heard her departing footsteps.

"Am I letting you down?" he wanted to ask.

Instead he watched her walk away.

xxx

By the time the morning came he was sick of his own thoughts, tossing and turning, just as his body had all night. He slept fitfully, to say the least, as his mind raced with questions and answers and plans of action. After all of that, he was still completely unsure of everything... and it was all Sharpay's fault.

Something from last night stuck out to him, though. "It's almost like you _want_ to stay on crutches," rang out in his head over and over again. It couldn't possibly be true. Seriously, where exactly would Sharpay come up with something like that? Who in their right mind wanted to stay on crutches?

Not him, that was for damn sure. He was an athlete, an all-star basketball player with a scholarship hanging on the line, what the fuck good would staying on crutches do for him?

"Dammit, Sharpay," he mumbled under his breath as he entered school. If she'd never come by last night then he wouldn't be struggling with these thoughts, or second-guessing what he knew (or thought, at least) to be true. He still wasn't completely sure what her intentions had been, either. Maybe he shouldn't have dismissed her so quickly, so he could've found out. It was too weird to think that she was doing something selfless, especially for him after their falling out. Still, it was kind of nice to think that, on some level, she cared enough to meet up with him and talk.

No, no, not nice. Evil. Probably. She was probably scamming him again and was angry because he blew her off before she had the chance to carry it out. Yeah... sure.

The voices in his head really needed to shut the fuck up, because he was sick of thinking so much. _Why, why, why?_ ran through his head again, and maybe he couldn't really help it anymore. It was beyond his control at this point. Troy walked straight past his first period class and into the library, determined to figure all of this out before he went insane.

One problem at a time, he decided. First, the easier issue, was Sharpay's words. Scenario number one: she'd said it to confuse him. If that was the case, she'd done a tremendous job.

Option number two: she thought he was self-sabotaging. He tried to think of it from an outside perspective, and okay, maybe from someone else's point of view it might seem that way. Troy Bolton had never given up before, so the fact that he did it so quickly at only his second therapy appointment was definitely likely to raise some brows. But he still couldn't figure out any underlying reason for that. Maybe he should've paid more attention to his psych class last year.

He wondered if there was any aspect of his life that had been better after his injury. Kicked off the team? No, that sucked. Losing his friends? Um yeah, that was no walk in the park either. Getting waited on hand and foot by his mother? It was nice at times, smothering at others, but he could always fake a cold and get the same reaction from her; it wasn't worth staying barely mobile forever for. Then he realized the most major way things had changed after the Knights game: he became friends with Sharpay and Noah.

Was that it? Could he be harboring some kind of deep, deep subconscious thoughts that implied getting better meant the end of their friendship? Sure, he'd be back on the team and would feel less odd hanging around the guys again, but he hadn't planned on completely ditching his two new friends when that time came. Unless... they'd planned to ditch him?

It was all irrelevant now. Sharpay wasn't even speaking to him, and Noah could barely get a normal (whatever qualified as "normal" for him) sentence out around him. Feeling like an idiot--a _schizophrenic _idiot--he told himself to get over it, if that was the problem, because whether he got better or not it was unlikely things would continue on the way they had been for the past few weeks. That was okay, though. He'd handle that as it came. C'est la vie, carpe diem, and all that.

xxx

A week later, at his next appointment, the voice in his head said, "You can do it, Troy," and he knew he could. When he crossed the room without crutches and saw himself in the mirror at the end of the makeshift lane he smiled, glad he actually listened to himself.

Dr. Jacobs gave him a warm smile with pride radiating through. "Nicely done, Troy. I knew you had it in you."

xxx

When he got home from the detention he'd received for missing class a week before, Troy was surprised to see a business-type woman standing in front of his house.

"Excuse me, but are you Troy Bolton?"

Troy swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure he'd done anything wrong or illegal recently, but the woman's presence made him second guess that. "Yes."

"Oh good, I've been standing out here for nearly five minutes. I was just about to leave actually." She stuck out her hand, and he couldn't help notice the shiny pearls hanging off her wrist. "I'm Tabitha James, from _United Artists Unlimited._"

Troy smiled widely, fakely, as he shook her hand. Oh shit.

"I believe you spoke with my secretary, Janine, on the phone?" she questioned, raising an incredibly thin eyebrow at him.

"Oh, yes! That was, um, awhile ago. I didn't know you'd be coming, otherwise I would have made sure to be home." That was a lie. If he'd known he would have posted a fake eviction notice on his front door so she never came back.

"I apologize for just showing up like this. I actually just finished up with a meeting in Santa Fe and thought I'd take a chance and stop by. I was quite impressed by the package you sent me. Your friend, Sharpay, seems to be on the right track and I thought I might have a chat with her."

"Oh." His eyebrows shot up. What was he supposed to say, "Sorry, but I'm not really speaking to that bitch anymore even though my heart beats a little bit faster when you say her name, so thanks, but no thanks, seeya around!"? Yeah, that probably wouldn't be a good thing. And the voices in his head were freaking him out again, but this time because of that little heart beat thing that slipped out. He was so screwed.

"So is there any way you could call her on the phone and get her over here? Or perhaps we could go to her house? I have to say I'm a bit pressed for time, though."

Okay, he could do this. Breathe in, breathe out. Maybe, if he really thought about it, sending the agent back would be a bitchy thing to do. Sure he had his problems with Sharpay, but whatever that was had to be left for East High's halls, this was about Sharpay's future. She'd made major moves to help him with his dream deferred, it was only fair for him to truly return the favor.

His palms were sweating as he looked Tabitha James in the eyes. "Her house isn't too far away. I'll drive."

* * *

**a/n:** _Any suggestions for Sharpay's audition piece? I have an idea but I'm open to basically anything. Except Wicked. I love the show, but I feel that's been kind of overused in HSM fiction. _

_P.S. This chapter kicked my ass. It would have been out much sooner but everytime I sat down to write it I just got exhausted. And I've been so incredibly busy lately that I haven't even really had the proper time to devote to this. Sorry, dudes. I'm trying, though. I'm excited for the next chapter. It's the Sharpay-based one I've been promising that will reveal some things..._

_(P.P.S. __There's music playing and I've been writing lately. I feel accomplished... light and weightless and fluttery. I like it. I've missed this _:]_)_

_Thanks to anyone reading/reviewing, you're all the bee's knees... or something._

* * *

chapter title/lyric credit: rise from the ashes - quietdrive


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